


The Road Ahead

by demonologistindenim



Series: The Actual Canon [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Series Finale, Canon Divergent, Carry On 15x20, Finale What Finale, Fix It, Gen, Series Finale, Series Finale Alternative, alternative ending, carry on, series finale rewrite, supernatural 15x20, we were ROBBED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonologistindenim/pseuds/demonologistindenim
Summary: At the end of Supernatural, family, love and free will carry our boys on down the road. My attempt at entirely rewriting the series finale 15x20. Complete with cameos and callbacks, tours of familiar locations, the occasional pop culture reference, and of course, classic rock. Complete.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: The Actual Canon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144304
Comments: 70
Kudos: 59
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series finale rewrite is not perfect. But it is the ending that – for me – most resolves the show. It holds true to the themes of “family doesn’t end in blood” and “keep fighting” and the value of free will. And is an earnest effort to complete the character arcs that are at the heart of Supernatural.
> 
> This fic is a celebration of the series, rather than a justifiable rage against the canonical ending, complete with cameos and callbacks, tours of familiar locations, the occasional pop culture reference, and of course, classic rock. Episode notes are written directly into the prose, as this is meant to be imagined as an actual episode, complete with commercial breaks, and taking up the entirety of the two hours slotted for the finale. It will not – and could not – be everything that everyone is looking for as an alternative series finale. But it offers more closure – and an open road after the credits roll – than the canonical episode “Carry On”, and that is all I really hope to achieve in writing this.

* * *

**_THE ROAD SO FAR_ **

The Supernatural series finale, episode 15x20 “Carry On”, opens with the song “Carry On” by Kansas, set to a montage of the past fifteen years of saving people and hunting things. Dean coming to get Sam from college. Mary and Jess’ death at the hands of old Yellow Eyes. The search for John Winchester. The colt. Ghosts, vampires, monsters. Long roads down which the Impala and the Winchester boys traveled.

Dean’s crossroads deal and going to Hell. Lilith. Ruby, the demon knife. Hellhounds. Dean’s resurrection. Castiel’s dramatic entrance in that barn, all those years ago. Sam’s demon blood addiction. Lucifer’s rising. Ellen and Jo. Becky. Bobby. Swan Song. Hunting alphas alongside Samuel Campbell. Soulless Sam. Lisa and Ben. Castiel and Crowley searching for Purgatory. The Leviathans. Charlie. Kevin. The Tablets, the trials, the angels falling. The cure and its lingering effect on Crowley. Abaddon, Gadreel, Metatron, Naomi. Cain. The Mark. Demon Dean. Rowena. The Darkness.

Amara and Chuck. The British Men of Letters. Mary’s resurrection. The Wayward Sisters. Eileen. Lucifer’s spawn. The rift. Crowley’s sacrifice. The apocalypse world. Jack, growing up as a Winchester. Michael possessing Dean. Billie. The reunion of the Winchester family. Mary’s death at Jack’s hands.

Chuck’s return. The Empty. Becky and all the others disappearing at a snap of Chuck’s fingers. Billie declaring the Winchesters the messengers of God’s destruction. The words The End being stamped out on a typewriter. Castiel being consumed into the Empty. Chuck beating on the Winchesters, the boys refusing to stay down. Jack absorbing all of Chuck’s power, becoming the new god of all creation. The boys in the bunker, making a toast to all those they’ve lost along the way. The Impala, driving away down that long, lonely road.

* * *

**_NOW_ **

As “Carry On” hits the final guitar riff, Sam and Dean continue the family business. Hunting ghosts and monsters and witches. And helping people. Reuniting families. Working cases. Sam and Dean Winchester, side by side. Together, driving the Impala down the road ahead, the last chorus of “Carry On” swallowed by the roar of Baby’s engine.

* * *

**_TITLE CARDS_** – all 15 title cards from the previous seasons

* * *

Dean is in his room in the bunker, talking to someone. Except, there is no one else in the room. Dean sits on the side of his bed talking to himself. Praying to Castiel.

“And that family, the one down in Nebraska? Man, do they know how to make a mean PB and J. You would have loved it.” Dean laughs, remembering the memory of the family as well as the memory of human Cas loving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “They were so grateful, they loaded up the cooler with ‘em. And those sandwiches didn’t make it home either – Sam and I polished ‘em off almost before we hit state lines.”

Dean grins, shakes his head at himself. “Ah, lemme see, what else? I mean, not that much is different, you know? Jack running things. Haven’t heard from him.” Dean’s smile dips a little. “Guess we probably shouldn’t expect to. It’s, uh, it’s a little quiet around here these days. Just me and Sam. Feels good, I’ll admit, just working cases. Nothing hanging over our heads. Can’t remember when the last time that was.”

He pauses, considering. Says softly to himself. “If this is life now?”

Dean looks around his room. Looks at his records lined up on a bottom shelf, the array of weapons on the wall. The photo of Mary, and him and Sam as kids, on the dresser. Reaches out, brushes his fingertips along the edges of the photo. Smiles. There’s some sadness there. But mostly, Dean’s smile is full of love.

“I’m good with it.”

* * *

Dean walks through the corridors of the bunker, up through the map room and into the library. Sam is in the library, standing around one of the tables with a book in his arms. There are boxes from the storage room on the table, piles of books, an open ledger. Sam sees his brother approach, clears his throat as he tends to do. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean looks around at the organized mess. “Whatcha working on?”

“Sorting through some stuff from the store room,” Sam says. “There’s so much here that we’ve never properly looked through, figured out what it is or what it’s for. Books, artifacts, spells. Stuff that might be really helpful.” He shows his brother something out of one of the boxes. “And not just for us. For other hunters out there. You know, real Men of Letters stuff.”

Dean looks confused by the item Sam has handed him, examines it, puts it back in the box. “Putting all of this in some kinda order, put warning labels on things. You’re talking about starting a library from scratch.”

“Not a library, Dean. A database. An accessible collection of lore and cases and creatures and magic and-and all of it.”

“Sounds like a hell of a lot of work,” Dean says, but he knows his brother. He’s half teasing, half proud.

Sam nods. “Yeah, well. We never had the time before. Now we do.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, trailing off as he looks around at all the books and artifacts on the table. “Looking through all of this,” Dean gestures to the beginnings of his brother’s database and tries not to appear too hopeful. “you find anything new about closing the Gates of Hell? Or maybe” he hesitates, “getting a peek inside the Empty?”

“Nothing yet,” Sam says, apologetic. Dean nods, like he wasn’t expecting anything more than that.

Sam clears his throat, wanting to be a source of comfort but also not intrude. “You, uh, you haven’t mentioned Cas in a while now. It’s been a couple of months, since…”

“Yeah, well.” Dean thinks about it for a moment, then meets Sam’s sympathetic gaze. “Guess I’m trying to do what you’ve been trying to get me to do for years. Have a little faith. What with Jack being all, you know, _God_ , I have faith that he didn’t just leave Cas in that hellhole. That he yanked him out, fixed it, whatever. And who knows, however Jack’s remaking the world, maybe Cas can’t flutter his feathered ass down here just yet. Or maybe – I don’t know – at all.” He shakes his head, hurting but also managing. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Sammy. Maybe that really was goodbye.” He taps on the table, looks around. “I hope to hell it wasn’t.”

Sam nods, forces a grin that falls away, feels for his brother. “Yeah, me too.”

Breaking away from those thoughts, Dean makes a point of asking “How’s Eileen? I kinda hoped after last week’s taco and margarita night, we’d be seeing more of her. What happened, your less than floral, bean-ridden farts finally chase her away?”

Sam huffs good-naturedly, ducks his head at the brotherly teasing. “She’s, uh, she’s good. We’re good. We’re making plans to see each other again this weekend. Maybe, I don’t know…” He pauses, looks at Dean with a little apprehension. “I thought, maybe, if you were okay with it. She and I could work a case or two together.”

Dean visibly brightens. “No. Yeah. That’s great, Sammy. That’s great.”

“Yeah?” Sam is both pleased and hesitant.

“Yeah, man. The two of you. You’re good for each other. And,” Dean pats his brother on the shoulder. “I want you to be happy, Sam. You’ve earned that.”

“We both have,” Sam insists in reply. Dean nods, steps back. Sam watches his brother closely, then adds. “Speaking of which, you remember we’re meeting Jody and Claire for lunch in a little while, right? They’re passing through, on the way back from that hunt in Santa Fe.”

“Dude! Yeees!” Dean’s good humor is now fully recovered. “At that new pie place in town, right? I’m gonna grab my coat.”

He starts half way out of the library and then stops, circles back around a little slowly.

“Mind if we make a small, uh, pit stop after?” When Sam raises an eyebrow, Dean searches for the right words, a little embarrassed. “If we’re heading to that part of town, there’s something I’d like to drop off at that mechanic shop. The one on Middleton Street.”

Sam prompts Dean with the minimal amount of teasing. “You mean that job application you’ve been riding around with folded up in your back pocket?” Dean doesn’t quite know what to say, so Sam continues, “Dean. This is a _good_ thing. And,” it’s Sam’s turn to look proud of his brother. “I think you’ll be pretty great at it.”

Dean tucks his tongue into his cheek, grins, abashed at how pleased he is with Sam’s support. “It’s wouldn’t be much, a couple of hours on the weekends. Just to get a sense of the business, maybe-maybe make a few connections. Then, who knows, after a year of two, maybe open my own mom-and-pop shop. Something small.” Dean tries to suppress how pleased he is with the idea, but the smile slips through. He draws out the next word, like he’s painting it on a sign to hang over his mechanic shop. “ _Specialized_. Classic cars, mostly. And on the side, maybe keep stuff running for hunters and folks here and there. Keep my own hours, a ‘gone fishing’ sign in the window. Just, you know, a little something for when it comes time to retire from the life.”

It’s so obvious how happy this idea makes Dean. He’s nearly bouncing on his toes. His grin is infectious, and Sam is smiling right along with him.

“See, that’s what I mean.” Sam says quietly. “Happy.”

Dean clears his throat, nods, feeling surprisingly at peace with himself. Slaps his hands together. “Right. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” He turns and walks down the steps and towards the corridor leading back to their rooms. “Let’s go get us some pie!”

* * *

The boys meet up with Jody and Claire at Carver’s Pies, the new diner-styled pie shop in Lebanon. Dean and Sam crowd into their side of the pistachio-colored booth by the window, while Claire and Jody comfortably snuggle in across from them. They’re barely seated before a cute waitress is handing them menus.

“Thanks,” Dean gets a look at the girl’s nametag, “Josie.” He flashes her a flirty smile.

Sam gives his brother a look that clearly conveys that either Dean is far too old to be playing this card with the twenty-something waitress, or simply uncomfortable with it in front of Jody and Claire.

The waitress returns a smile that conveys her expertise in customer service, then looks to Claire. The two make eye contact. Josie nods and smiles knowingly at Claire. “Just let me know when you’re all ready to order.” And sashays away.

Dean’s expression of “Ah! My bad” conveys he’s suddenly aware he was making a play on someone else’s court, and whether it’s because he’s matured or because the situation involves Claire, he obviously doesn’t let his thoughts dwell on any potential sexual scenario, like he once might have. Sam still gives his brother an exasperated look.

“So,” Jody says, “How you boys been?”

“Good,” Sam, “For once. Worked a couple cases down around Austin, and in Omaha. Then up in western Massachusetts and upstate New York.”

“Bet you two fit right in there,” Claire teases. “What with the plaid and all.”

“And Eileen? How are the two of you getting along?” Jody prompts, a bit of her mothering tendencies showing through.

“We’re good. We text and skype a lot. She stops by every couple of weeks. We’re making it work. She’s an amazing hunter. Good with lore, too. It’s, uh, it’s good.” Sam clearly is torn between wanting to brag about Eileen’s qualities and feeling uncomfortable about discussing his love life. “How are the girls?”

“Other than this bundle of trouble?” Jody playfully elbows Claire in the booth, who just rolls her eyes in response. “They’re all doing well. Patience graduated back in May. We’re still trying to find someone who can help train her to use or at least better control her visions. Alex is putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. I, uh,” Jody looks between the Winchesters. “I found her looking through some of the lore I had on hand the other day.”

“What was she looking for?” Sam asks.

“Books that detail the biology of monsters. Kitsune, Rugarus. She says she’s interested in trying to figure out a way to help people afflicted by the Supernatural manage what’s happening to them. Find a way that they don’t _have_ to become monsters.”

“And she thinks there’s some way to do that?” Dean asks, cynically.

“Maybe there is, I don’t know.” Jody replies. “None of us do, after all. Maybe with magic, or modern science, there could be a way. I’ll tell you one thing, though. It could mean a lot less families torn apart, losing someone they love to something that’s beyond their control.”

Dean and Sam clearly don’t know what to say in response to that. They’ve never been particularly good about dealing with the moral greyness of that aspect of hunting.

Jody clearly senses their mixed emotions on the matter. “Kaia’s doing well, going to classes, seeing a counselor.”

“And her dreams?” Sam asks, remembering being young with powers he neither could control nor fully understand.

“She doesn’t have them anymore.” Claire says, smiling softly, and doesn’t elaborate.

At the same time Josie returns, Claire’s phone rings. She regrettably gets up from the table and moves to the back of the diner to answer it. Josie prompts Dean for his order, and he lists off “Yeah, I’ll have a slice of the blueberry pie, the rosemary bourbon sweet potato pie, the peach tart with mint walnut pesto – ” Sam is raising his eyebrows, “the maple orange pecan, the coconut cream with the vanilla bean whipped cream – ” Jody is now also making a face. Dean flips through the pages of the menu, double checking. “And, what the hell, the nectarine and lavender galette. Whatever that is.” He folds the menu and looks round the table.

“Seriously?” Sam inquires.

“Dude, what.” Dean states emphatically. “It’s _pie_.”

“Just, ah,” Sam smiles apologetically at Josie. “Just give us another minute, please.”

Claire returns, unaware of the looks the boys are tossing each other, and plops down next to Jody. “That was Ben. He thinks he might have heard of a case.”

“Ben?” Dean asks, his attention clearly diverted from squabbling with Sam. He doesn’t look particularly pleased, a bit protective. “Ben who?” He demands.

Claire gives him her patented “chill out” look.

“Ben,” Jody says, stressing the boy’s name in a sweet voice and taking command of the conversation, “is a young man by the name of Ben Braedon, up in Michigan. He’s something of a hunter-in-training, though he only works locally and is attending college fulltime. He and Claire crossed paths on a wraith case a few months back.”

It’s obvious from the expressions on both Sam’s and Dean’s faces that they both know exactly who Jody is talking about, though she doesn’t. “That so?” Dean asks. “He, uh, he any good?”

“I like him,” Claire says easily, “He’s a bit green, but he’s eager to learn. Though – ” she adds, a little disappointedly, “he’s more interested in how to help families protect themselves from attacks, rather than actually hunting monsters.”

“Hey,” Sam counters gently, “we all have our own ways of helping.” Claire squeezes out a smile of acknowledgement. Pacifism in any form just isn’t her thing.

“We’ve spoken a time or two on the phone,” Jody adds, that subtle parental statement that says she’s checked out the situation and everything is above board. Then she smiles that sly Jody smile. “Nice boy. Kinda reminds me of you, Dean.”

Dean looks to be exceptionally grateful that that is the moment Josie returns with his order of pie.

They arrange the plates in the middle of the table where everyone can easily get a fork-load.

“So, what’s the case?” Jody asks before taking a bite. Dean is already digging in, and loving it.

“Wendigo,” Claire says around a mouthful of sweet potato pie. “At least that’s what Ben thinks it could be, from what he’s come across. He’s texting me the info and links to all the articles. Some place near Vancouver, called Lone Butte.”

Dean chokes on his pie.

“A wendigo?” Sam ignores his brother. “The two of you aren’t going after a wendigo, are you?”

Claire and Jody exchange looks, the elder hunter looking a little exhausted at the thought, the younger one not showing much enthusiasm either.

“Honestly?” Claire says, “The last few months? It’s been great. I’ve been working cases alongside Jody, and Donna, and occasionally some other hunters. And it’s been good. But,” she shrugs a little, not liking to admit to weakness. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping in my own bed for a few nights, you know?”

Jody looks supremely proud of her adopted daughter. She gives her another little nudge with her shoulder. Claire flushes, pleased Jody approves of her, and flips her hair back in that classic way of hers.

Around an impressive mouthful, Dean says “Well, then we’re taking the case. We can set out this afternoon, get there in a couple a’ days. Whatdaya say, Sammy?”

And Dean smiles at his brother, his mouth absolutely bursting with pie.

* * *

Outside the shop, as the four are bidding their goodbyes in the parking lot, Dean finds a moment to speak with Claire privately.

“Hey. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing. _Really_ doing.”

Claire takes a moment to think about it, hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather coat, managing to look both badass and incredibly fragile. Dean’s letting his softer side show, and Claire is willing to be vulnerable if he is.

“I’m better,” she decides. “I’ve got…people, you know? Occasionally, I even – ” she laughs at herself, a little embarrassed, but also happy, “I even let Jody take care of me the way she wants. Home cooked meals, clean laundry. Band-aids on my bruises.” Dean smiles grimly and nods. He knows. He knows how hard it can be to let someone take care of you. And also how much people like he and Claire need that, even if they can’t admit it to themselves, not without it breaking them beyond repair.

“It feels –” She shrugs to herself. “Nice. Not trying to do this alone. Not feeling like I _have_ to do it alone. I’m doing okay. I’m good.”

“That’s good,” Dean says, and means it.

He reaches into an inner pocket in his jacket. “I wanna give you something,” he says, and pulls out the demon blade. “Something that might make you feel a little safer. A little more in control.” He hands it to her.

Claire holds the knife balanced between her hands, running her thumb over the spellwork along the blade. “What is it?”

“We call it the demon blade. It’s the only known one in existence. You can kill demons with it.” When Claire looks up at him, surprised, Dean nods. “It’s the real deal. ‘Course, there haven’t been any sightings of demons for a while. Not any that I’ve heard about, anyway. But you? Being out here, hunting? You’re going to face some nasty stuff. And I know – ” he adds, before she can interject, “that you’re more than capable of handling it. I know there’s gonna be a day when the name Claire Novak makes monsters shudder in their skin. But you don’t live long enough to see something like that,” Dean instructs her, “without being careful. Being safe.”

Claire looks up at Dean, basking in the warmth of his approval, and maybe, even a little, in his protectiveness. Dean looks down at her with all the love of a man who’s seeing his girl all grown up, and more than capable of taking on the world on her own. Thankfully, neither of them have to take the world on, on their own, any longer.

“You’re the one with the power now,” Dean tells her.

Claire is clearly fighting back tears. She reaches up and pulls Dean into a hug that he more than willingly returns. They’re like that for a moment, then slowly let go of each other. Claire wipes away her tears, laughs a little bit.

Then she bites her bottom lip, and looks around. Claire looks up at Dean from under her lashes. He looks at her expectantly.

“Can I, uh – ” she smiles cheekily at him. “Can I have the car too?”

Dean’s mouth falls open. He looks from Claire to the Impala, waiting patiently in the parking lot. Then back at Claire.

His face finally settles into a look of mock outrage when he realizes she’s teasing him.

“How _dare_ you,” he replies.

Claire laughs, and they rejoin Sam and Jody, to exchange hugs and wish each other well. Then Sam and Dean climb into the Impala, Sam into the passenger’s seat, Dean into the driver’s. Their respective doors manage to slam at the same moment. They settle themselves in.

And just sit for a moment, together, considering.

Sam huffs lightly to himself. “We’re getting old,” he tells Dean with a sideways glance.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Yeah.” Then he smiles, and reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror. He turns the key in the ignition, and grins at his brother as the engine roars to life. “But we got a lot of miles left in us.”

The Impala pulls out of the parking lot of Carver’s Pies, and heads off down the road.

* * *

**_Commercial Break_ **

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

As the Impala roars past the Thanks For Visiting Kansas – Hope To See You Again Soon state sign, “Running On Empty” by Jackson Browne begins to play, set to a montage of the boys out on the open road.

Out on the road, in the familiar comfort of the Impala, the boys are no longer the legendary Winchesters, hunters of monsters and slayers of gods. They are just Sam and Dean. Two brothers on a road trip, with all the moments of humor and petty squabbles and boredom and pure joy along the way. Dean rocking out to Metallica. Sam reading up about the interesting sights and historical locations and small towns they pass through. Stops at Gas N’ Sip stations, Sam pumping gas while Dean returns triumphantly loaded down with beef jerky, pork rinds and giant, neon-colored slurpees.

Staying in motel after motel, breakfast and lunch and dinner in diners along the way. The road stretching out ahead, curving around bends, disappearing into tunnels and shooting back out the other side, the sun rising ahead or disappearing behind as the Impala crosses through small-town America. Quaint towns, gutted towns, ghost towns, towns just getting by. Some of the towns are ones the boys have been through before, worked cases in. State sign after state sign passes them by, the whole of the country open to them.

The boys playing a few rounds of pool in a local bar, having the time of their life together. Sam coming back to the car after picking up supplies, to see Dean rocking out behind the wheel to something on the radio. Dean driving late into the night, glancing over to see Sam fast asleep, forehead resting against the window. Dean smiles, and drives on. And the Impala herself. The gleam of her sides, the cut of her grill, the glimpse of her boys seen from the back seat. The little army man stuck in the ash tray, the lego rattling around inside the air conditioner. The initials carved into the rear dash, SW and DW, still there after all these years. The bunker may be a safe haven, but the Impala is home.

And when Dean glances into the rearview mirror, he sees two boys in the back. Ten year old Dean and his little brother, Sammy. They grow up in that back seat, one glimpse of childhood after another. Until they’re sitting in the front, younger, fresh-faced and eager. Sam’s hair is shorter, his hope brighter. Dean, trying to play it tough, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And they age, across the years, across the seasons. But always together. And always happy, laughing, jabbing each other awake, singing along to some song, researching, talking, living and bright and _alive_. Until they’re our boys now. Older, wiser. Bruised and battered, but still themselves. Still brothers.

Dean looks over and smiles at Sam, who smiles back. And they roar across that final stretch of road, past a sign stating Welcome to Vancouver, as “Running Out of Gas” fades away.

* * *

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of a three-story, log cabin-style motel with a sign for the Kerouac Restaurant and Lodge. “Canada,” Dean says, climbing out of the car and taking a look around. “Still as green and as mapley as I remember it.”

Sam stretches himself as he unravels from the passenger side. “Honestly? I’m just glad we’re here, whatever the destination. Those last few hours were brutal. I can’t listen to Eye of the Tiger one more time today.”

“What are you talking about?! It’s a _classic._ ”

With a shake of his head, Sam gathers their bags while Dean checks in, and meets him at the stairs to make their way up to their rooms.

“So the guy at the desk says we’re only a couple of miles outside of – ” Dean controls himself and says with only the barest twinge of amusement, “Lone Butte. There’s no place in town to stay, considering the town itself is pretty small. So, we’ll shack up here, do some research, and take a look at –” he chokes on the words a second time “Lone Butte tomorrow.”

“This is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?”

Unable to defend himself against the accuracy of that statement, Dean snags his bag and heads up the stairs.

“Okay, floor 3. Room number…” He and Sam walk up to the third floor and then all the way down the exposed hallway to the last door at the end. “Room number 27. And here we are.”

Dean and Sam crowd into the doorway together as the door swings inward to reveal the motel room.

The interior is decorated in green and brown plaid. The wallpaper is plaid, the comforters on the beds are plaid, even the room dividers between the lounge and the beds alternate in brown and green squares. And running throughout, in various incarnations, are moose and squirrels. The curtains are patterned with squirrel silhouettes. The lamps have mouse antlers hanging below the lamp shades, from which the lamp cord dangle. The mugs sitting next to the coffee pot present squirrel tails as handles. The headboards proudly boast mouse antlers. The motel phone is a massive acorn. There are mouse tracks imprinted in the shag carpet. It is a plaid moose and squirrel motel room to the fullest extent of the imagination.

The boy’s mouths are hanging open. They step carefully into the room. Dean takes one long look around, and erupts.

“ _Oh, come on!_ ”

“It’s-it’s not that bad,” Sam says, without much conviction. “We _are_ in Canada, after all.”

Dean huffs in annoyance, and tosses his bag onto the nearest bed. Sam sets his stuff down near the door, and starts setting up his laptop and books on the table in the lounge. Already he’s clearly moved into research mode.

“You might be right, this place may not be all that bad,” Dean calls from over by the tv. He waves the pay-per-view guide. “They’ve got a horror movie channel, a porn channel, _and_ a hentai channel. ‘Tentacle Love 4’ is on here. Man, throw in some Magic Fingers and I am all set!”

“Dude.” Sam looks thoroughly disgusted.

Dean waves a warning finger at his brother. “Hey, don’t yuck my yum. You don’t hear me saying anything derogatory about your vanilla-flavored fetishes.” Sam opens his mouth, searches for words. Closes it again. Blinks hard. He’s not used to his brother being so brutally honest about his kinks or preferences or whatever it is they’re suddenly discussing. Sam decides its best to let the matter rest entirely without comment.

They set to work researching the local area and its history. Sam types away on his laptop while Dean scans newspaper articles accessible through the local library’s online collection. The last of the daylight fades through the green and brown plaid curtains. The boys turn on the moose lamps. Dean breaks into the stash of granola bars and chips he purchased from the motel vending machine.

“So get this,” Sam says at last, glancing at his brother over the top of the laptop. “From the local police reports, it looks like there’s been a handful of people in the area who have gone missing in the last few months. Mostly women from the Tsilhqotʼin First Nation, I think. And then folks from town.”

“Yeah,” Dean adds, scrolling through articles. “That’s what I’m showing, too. Missing persons reporting began in earnest in the ‘80s. Most of the cases are from twenty years ago. Then nothing until it started up again in the last few months.”

“No bodies or parts of bodies ever recovered. No sightings, like the thing killing people is an expert hunter.”

Dean nods. “Sounds like a wendigo to me, especially up in these parts.” He reaches into the rug sack at his feet and pulls out John Winchester’s journal. Lays it gently on the table and flips through the pages until he comes to the by-now-familiar sketch of a wendigo.

Sam glances down at the family heirloom and back up at his brother. “You brought Dad’s journal?”

“Yeah, just for old time’s sake, I guess.” Dean brushes his fingers down the page, over the lines their father wrote so many years ago. For so long, this book was their guide. Simpler times. Simpler times that in many ways are here again. Only now, it’s just Sam and Dean. “Don’t know why. Nostalgia, I guess. At this point, you and I know more and have _seen_ more than Dad ever did.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. There isn’t really anything more to say to that, and for a moment, the distance between those years with their father and now hang heavy.

Dean gently closes the journal.

“Alright,” he says, shaking himself out of the moment by standing and walking over to the bed to pack the journal away. “First thing tomorrow, we check out the town, talk to some locals. Work the case.”

Sam shuts his laptop, follows his brother to his feet. “Yeah, sounds good. In the meantime, wanna go grab a beer? Or a-a Molsen, or whatever?”

Dean clearly thinks about it, then brushes off the offer. “Nah, thanks. Trying to cut back.”

Sam’s eyebrows just about meet his hairline. But he clearly approves.

“Think I’m just gonna grab some grub, watch a cheesy horror flick, and get some shut-eye.” Dean flops down onto the bed, and spreads out in a posture of repose.

“Yeah, alright.” Sam snags his phone and heads towards the door to the room. “I’m going to call and check in on Eileen, maybe a few others. Let Jody know we made it and are on the case.”

He’s only gone a few minutes. But Dean is already fast asleep when Sam returns, on top of the plaid covers, still fully dressed and with his boots on. Sam laughs quietly to himself. He sits across from his brother on the other bed, watches him sleep for a moment. Then quietly pulls off his own boots, one by one, and lays down. Just before he turns out the light, Sam looks again at his brother, and smiles.

“G’night, Dean.” And off goes the light.

* * *

The next morning, the boys make their way to the local ranger station, dressed in their suits. The inside of the station looks about what is to be expected: maps pinned up on the log walls, plaques proudly discussing local history and geological facts, some basic outdoor gear available for purchase, the occasional taxidermied critter, bird of prey or fox. There’s an odd trophy on one wall, of an oversized lemming with a buck’s antlers mounted on it. The boys give it a wide berth. At the sight of the two suits, a sinewy, grizzled old ranger comes out from behind the counter.

“Morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?”

Dean and Sam both produce their FBI badges.

“Morning. I’m Agent Kripke. This is Agent Singer. We’re with the FBI.” Before Dean can launch into his inquiry, the ranger gives the two the side-eye.

“FBI? The _American_ Federal Bureau of Investigation, you mean?”

Sam and Dean look at their badges, realizing their mistake. Dean gives his brother a “really?” look, while Sam laughs nervously and puts his badge away.

“You’re here about those that have gone missing.” The ranger surmises, picking up the sudden slack in conversation.

“Yes, yes we are.” Dean replies. “Can you tell us, have there been many bears seen in the area? Or known bear attacks in the last few months. We’re, ah, we’re tracking a case from just over the border in Washington – Washington state, that is – ”

“People _have_ gone missing,” the ranger cuts in. “But it isn’t a bear.” He gives the Winchesters a good look over, and then saddles his way back to the counter. Looking to one another, Sam and Dean follow after him.

“It’s one of our own. Man who should’ve known better. Used to be a hunter, as I understand it.”

“A hunter?” Sam asks. “As in…?”

“As in,” the old man retorts, letting the words hang between the three of them. “You gonna say it, or am I?”

“A hunter of monsters.” Dean confirms.

The ranger hmms, and shuffles through the maps on the counter. “Came up here years ago. Distrustful, seeing monsters everywhere and in everyone. Didn’t know him personally myself – not many did. He didn’t seem to trust us – we didn’t trust him. Hard to say whether in the end, he shut all of us out, or the community shut him out. Word around town, in the lodge – he was the sort that couldn’t leave behind him or break free of whatever violence he’d known in his life. There are some that just can’t.”

Dean nods. Violence, bloodlust, hunting. Those are all things he innately understands. As well as the difficulty that comes with separating himself from it.

“There was suspicion, about twenty years ago,” the ranger continued, “about people going missing. There were some that figured him for it. Accusations were made. Nothing came of it. People stopped disappearing, for the most part. Haven’t heard much from or about him since. Now, the disappearances have started again.”

Sam, always the one to offer comfort, taps on the map on the counter. “If he is what we think he is, we can stop him.”

The old man hmms again, not entirely convinced but not seeing much harm in giving the Winchesters aid.

“This is the way up to his cabin,” he highlights a thin trail leading off a major road up into a densely wooded area. “Not far outside of Butte, just off one of the main roads into town. Can’t give you much more than that.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, taking the map and tucking it into his jacket pocket.

The boys are almost out the door before the ranger calls after them. “It’s a pity,” the old man says. Sam and Dean stop in the doorway and turn back to him, wondering. “Becoming so mired in violence that you lose yourself. I’m told that’s the life, what it is you boys do.”

After a moment, he adds, “You might want to think about your own future, before you end up the same.”

* * *

The Impala rumbles off a paved, two-lane road onto a wide, dirt road that fades into the tree line on either side. The car slowly rolls along, disappearing into the woods.

After some distance, the road ends, overgrown with grass and small pine saplings. The boys emerge from the car, dressed in their usual clothes, and take a look around.

“Guess we’re walking from here,” Dean says, and heads to the trunk to grab their gear.

He’s pulling out a professional-looking flamethrower, complete with a propane cylinder that straps to the back and a nozzle that ends with a catch, when Sam joins him. “Dude,” Sam admonishes.

“What?” Dean demands, already prepared for Sam-the-killjoy. “Fire kills wendigos, man! I’ve been dying to use this thing!”

“Yeah, like that time with the grenade launcher? Or the ninja stars?” Sam reminds him. He motions towards the length of road they still have to walk. “You gonna carry it the rest of the way?”

With obvious disappointment, Dean rolls his eyes and lowers the flamethrower off his shoulder and back into the trunk. He opts for the usual spray cans and lighters, stuffing them into his rug sack.

Something has caught Sam’s eye. He walks up the road a little further.

“What is it?” Dean asks, slamming shut the trunk.

“Another car,” Sam calls back. It is a small silver sedan, sitting off to the side of the road, empty. Dean joins his brother and eyes the car. “It hasn’t been here long.”

“Right,” Dean hitches the rug sack up on his shoulder and starts hiking. “We don’t have time to call it in, even if it does belong to one of the people gone missing. We just gotta hope we’re not too late.”

Down the road-that-isn’t-a-road, a cabin appears at the end of the tree line. It looks to be the typical, out-of-the-way log cabin, with a stovetop pipe and moss growing over the eaves. It seems still, but there is a light on somewhere inside.

“There,” Dean quickens his pace. “I think I can see smoke coming out of the chimney.”

“That’s weird. Why would a wendigo have a fire going?”

Something tingles at the back of Dean’s neck, like they’re being watched. He glances behind them.

Back down the road, almost swallowed by the shade of the pines, is a dark figure. It’s a man, a large one. And he has clearly spotted them. His shoulders slump, head down, and begins to move towards them, his own pace quickening into a run.

Dean grabs his brother by the shoulder and shoves him forward. “Go, run! Make for the cabin!”

There is the pounding of their feet and the rush of breath. The world is a blur around them. The dark figure is gaining on them. The closer the cabin, the closer their pursuer. They bound up the stairs, and as one, use their shoulders as battering rams to knock down the door and go barreling into the cabin.

The boys slam into the floor with a might crash.

There is someone in the cabin, who gasps and shouts at the sudden commotion. Sam is the first to scramble up to his feet, Dean not far behind and already halfway back to the door to face whatever comes through it. Sam sweeps the room and finds – “Becky?!”

“Sam?!”

Becky Rosen stands in the middle of the – noticeably warm, comfortable room with, yes, a fire going in the fireplace – staring in horror at the two men who have just barged into the cabin. She is utterly unharmed, somewhat frightened and very confused.

“What are you doing here?” She demands.

Sam moves towards her, throwing Becky behind him and turning to face the door and his brother. “Just – say behind me,” he shouts.

The dark figure rushes up the stairs onto the porch, and resolves into a large, burly man as he passes through the doorway. He looks human enough, but Sam raises his firearm, ready.

The man isn’t even through the door before he swings one fist around and catches Dean, waiting to the side with a raised spray can and lit lighter. Both of which go flying. The man takes Sam down with a single punch. Becky is shouting. “Run!” Dean orders, before joining in the brawl.

Sam rolls over onto his back, gets ahold of the man, the two tearing at each other. Furniture topples. Arms and legs flail. Dean is attempting to wrestle the wendigo-stranger-assailant off his brother. There are hands pounding at his back, small hands, beating on his in persistent futility.

It’s Becky, shouting at the Winchesters to stop.

“Get off him! Leave him alone! He’s my friend! Sam, Dean, _stop_!”

Dean wrenches back from the fray. With one last mighty shove, Sam pushes the man off him, grabs his gun. The two stagger to their feet, and back away from each other, gasping and ready should the other try to make a move.

“That’s _enough_!” Becky shouts, sounding surprisingly firm. “All three of you! Sam – ” she looks to her one-time knight-in-plaited-flannel, who still has his weapon trained on the other man. She takes a deep breath and lets it out in utter frustration. “ _What_ are you _doing_ here?”

“We were – I thought – ” Sam fumbles. Both boys are completely unsure of the situation now.

The large man across from them has resolved into an individual, a person. A hulking bear of a man, in the latter of his middle years, with East Asian features under a full beard, short dark hair sticking out of a woolen cap, worn jeans, and his own unbuttoned, rumpled plaid shirt. He does not appear to like the look of either Sam or Dean, but then, they did just burst uninvited into his cabin and give him a few knocks around the head.

“Your pal here,” Dean attempts to catch his breath, gesturing from Becky to their supposed quarry. “He’s not a wendigo?”

“No. I’m not.” The man replies. “But you two – you’re hunters. And typical hunters at that.” Which he rather obviously means as less than a compliment.

Holding up her hands, Becky walks into the center between the three of them. “Alright, let’s everyone just _calm_ down.”

Sam lowers the gun.

“What are you two even doing here?” She asks again of Sam and Dean. “You know, other than embarrassing yourselves. _And me_.”

Both of the Winchesters appear thoroughly deflated and a little embarrassed. The man they thought was a monster inhales deeply, and takes a visual inventory of the damage done to his cabin.

Sam puts his gun back in his inner holster, looks down at the busted door, at mess made by their fight. Curiously, looks down at his feet.

“I, uh – ” Sam looks around the cabin, abashed. “I lost my shoe,” he finishes rather lamely.

Dean cannot hide his exasperation, Becky her utter disappointment in the mighty saviors of the world, Dean and Sam freakin’ Winchester.

* * *

**_Commercial Break_ **

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

In the cabin, Sam and Dean are helping put the room back in order, as best as they can. Sam leans the door up against the wall next to the now-open entranceway. Their quarry-turned-host flips the toppled breakfast table back over. Dean rights a side table and places a – busted – lamp on top. Seeing it’s not working, he fiddles with it for a moment. Becky watches over the proceedings, arms crossed, lips pulsed in disapproval. Dean screws the bulb back in and – voila – the lamp lights up. Dean laughs at his small success, hands held up in accomplishment. He looks up, smiling, at Becky for her approval. “Heh? Right? All fixed. Everybody happy now?”

She rolls her eyes, sighs dramatically, and points commandingly at the two couches sitting facing each other next to the fire. As one, the Winchesters sit.

Becky continues to stand, arms crossed but no longer looking quite so upset, and their host comes to stand behind and lean on the other couch, calmed and willing to talk with his unexpected guests.

“So,” Sam prompts, “You said your name is Dave?”

“Dave Cherng,” the older man nods.

“And you’re a hunter.”

“Was a hunter. Like you. I decided I’d had enough. Always on the road, never feeling like I belonged anywhere, or with anyone. Like all the world was my enemy. Too much killing and not enough – ” Dave shrugged his massive shoulders. “ – life. I retired to Lone Butte some twenty years ago. Originally, I’m from Vancouver, have family there. But, I prefer the quiet out here.”

“Yeah, and what was that like?” Dean asked, partially making shoptalk and partially attempting to hide his own very sincere interest.

Cherng thinks about for a moment, stands up to his full height. Walks around to sit on the couch opposite the Winchesters, ruminating as he goes. “At first, getting over the hunting life was difficult. And not just because that sort of thing, it cuts you deep. Leaves you bleeding or leaves you scarred. It follows you.” He lowers himself onto the couch, pats his knees. “For a while, I also thought there was a wendigo in the area, or something, anyway. Plenty of people going missing. Women, mostly, from the First Nations in the area. Tsilhqotʼin, Skeetchestn, others too. And no one doing a thing about it, or _able_ to do anything about it.”

“But you could.”

“Like I said – a lifetime of hunting monsters, it follows you. I went back to keeping tabs, asking questions. Looking in all the dark corners everyone else are happy enough to just pretend don’t exist. People thought I was looking for trouble. And maybe? Who the hell knows, maybe I was. You get a taste for something, or it gets a taste of you, and then enough is never enough, you know?”

Dean nods. He damn well does know. Sam too, though he nods for different reasons, different things that have had their claws in either brother.

“Didn’t take me very long to find the right dark corner to be looking in. Only it wasn’t a wendigo, or any other supernatural monster snacking on folks. The monsters I was hunting were human. Local cops. Truckers, passing through. Loggers and rig workers, those that live out in temporary camps near tribal lands, scraping the earth raw and the moving on. Nothing new – it’d been going on long before I showed up. Happens in places all over this country, down in yours too. But my asking questions made people in the area uneasy. Made them feel – ” Dave chews at his bottom lip under his beard. “ – complacent, maybe.”

“So you dealt with the human monsters” Dean says, with an intense empathy for the man in front of him, “the same way you dealt with the supernatural ones.” He doesn’t have to say he understands, or approves. The indication is clear.

“And the problem went away,” Cherng sighs, weary.

“So, what happened?” Sam asks. “Twenty years, people start going missing again. Why?”

“New generation, same problems.” Cherng replies. “Folks didn’t deal with it, not back then, and not now. Dealing with it means facing up to something being broken at its core. And something being broken needs to be reckoned with, the hard work of healing done, or admit that there’s nothing left worth saving. Instead, they’d rather leave it in those dark corners. Some people here are more than happy to blame all of this on local legends, on monsters and wendigos. But this isn’t something supernatural. This is something worse. It’s people.”

Cherng raises from the couch, walks over to the little kitchen. “I don’t go into town much, or talk with anyone.” He pours some coffee into two mugs, brings them back over. Hands one to each of the Winchesters, who take it as the olive branch it’s meant to be. “That’s why I started after you – thought you were some of the white guys from town, come to cause trouble.” He lowers himself back down across from them.

“Wendigos.” Cherng shakes his head, at a loss. “People who turn on their own. What’s the difference, other than what they look like? Hell, one of the reasons I got out of hunting was I’d met too many people that weren’t human, people who I was supposed to _kill_ just because they didn’t look like me. You wanna explain what sort of sense that makes? Or people turned into monsters. People made into vampires, into werewolves, even rugarus, and still trying to live good lives. At what point,” he asks the Winchesters, “do we decide who deserves to be killed and who deserves to be saved? At what point is someone so far gone into that dark place, that they’re not worth the effort it would take to make them people again? I don’t have an answer. But I do know this: we can’t just define humanity by someone being human.”

“I’ve heard of you two,” Dave continues, catching and holding Sam and then Dean’s gaze in turn. “The Winchester brothers. Even out here, I’ve heard the stories.” He waves a finger between them. “There’s been enough times one or both of you haven’t been human. And yet, here you both are. Still standing. Why is that, do you think?” To this question, Cherng clearly does have an answer. “Because someone cared enough about you to save you, rather than stick you with a knife, or lob off your head, or leave you to drown in your own damnation. Not everyone’s got what you’ve got. You want the advice of someone who’s lived this life and made it out alive? It might be time to redefine what it means to hunt things and save people.”

The room is quiet for a moment, the boys letting these words settle inside them. Cherng is content, having had his say, leans back on the couch, just being in the moment.

Finally, Dean looks up at Becky.

“So’s that what you’re doing here, then?” He asks.

“That is exactly what I’m doing here,” she replies quietly, firmly.

“I found Becky here on the web,” Cherng adds. “Her and her little group. It felt good, knowing I wasn’t alone. That there are others who see things – the supernatural – the way I do. Gave me hope that maybe not _everything_ is broken beyond repair.”

Both Sam and Dean turn surprised, inquiring eyes on the former fangirl. She looks a little uncomfortable, somewhat called out.

“We should talk,” she says, lamely.

* * *

Out on the porch of the cabin, Dean is stuffing their weapons back into his rug sack, and getting ready to head off down the road. Becky is beside him, her own bag thrown over her shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow!” She calls up to Cherng.

Sam is up on the porch with Cherng, and turns to the former hunter. “So, again,” he says, shrugging self-consciously, “sorry about before. What – ah, what you’re doing here, protecting people? It’s work that needs to be done. Work we all need to be doing, really. And you’ve given me a lot to think about, about what we’re doing. Me and Dean. Hunters, and this new Men of Letters, or whatever – ” Sam shakes his head, suddenly realizing he doesn’t quite know what they are anymore. What they are going to be, or could be. “ – whatever comes next.”

“Whatever it is,” the older man says, standing strong and firm and a little proud of this new breed of hunter, “just make sure it’s something that doesn’t define itself as ‘good’ simply by labeling something else as ‘bad’.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, thinking it over and offering one of his contemplative Sam smiles. “Will do. And also, you’re not alone up here, you know.” Cherng raises an eyebrow. “That old ranger? I think you’d be surprised you’ve got an ally there.”

To Sam’s surprise, the older man smiles. And then reaches out a hand for Sam’s, sharing a firm shake.

Sam takes the steps down two at a time, and jogs a little to catch up with his brother and Becky. They make their way down the road that isn’t a road any longer, a path they blaze together through the new undergrowth, the big figure on the porch and the cabin receding into the forest the farther the three walk.

Dean leads the way. He glances over at his brother and smiles. “You remember your shoe?”

“Shut up,” Sam good-naturedly replies.

* * *

Outside a roadside diner, with a neon sign in the window flashing Edlund’s Eats, the Impala and Becky’s silver sedan sit side-by-side.

The interior is busy, with the clatter of plates and a line of locals down the counter and calls of “one order of the lunch special.” Local fliers, artwork of the area and wildlife, and posters advertising menu items crowd the walls. Near the booth where the Winchesters and Becky sit is a sign cheerfully advertising a “Pig N’ A Poke” on the menu, though neither of the boys notice it. The diner is clearly a favorite place to eat in the area.

“Wait, so – ”Becky isn’t particularly impressed. “ _That’s_ how you defeated Chuck? God? That’s how the story ends?”

Sam looks both amused and taken aback. Dean just looks insulted.

“Uh, we defeated _God_.” He reminds her, leaning forward on his elbows and smiling that self-assured, bite-me Dean Winchester smile.

“Becky, he’d been controlling our whole lives. Everything that has ever happened to us. I mean,” Sam laughs, primarily as a means of keeping it together. “When you think about it, it’s kinda hard to know if anything we did was real. Or mattered. Or, if we ever had anything like free will. Now – now we do.”

Becky gives a “meh” pout face and shrugs. “Still a sucky ending.”

“And besides,” she continues, picking up the menu and flipping through it casually. “You can’t blame Chuck for _everything_ that happened to you. I don’t think that’s the way he wrote his stories, not from what I saw. You know – ” she looks slightly embarrassed, “back when we were dating.” Her face does a little crunch at the realization that she dated God.

“Yeah, and how’s that?” Dean asks, mildly irritated.

“He liked to – to set up scenarios, you know? And then watch how everything played out. I mean, maybe there was a time or two, to push the story in one direction or another, Chuck wrote what he wanted to happen, what he wanted you to do. You, or Cas, or – or Crowley, or whoever. But most of the time?” She almost looks apologetic, or maybe a little sad for them. “Most of the time, it was the two of you. Your decisions, your actions, your _choice_. You _had_ free will, guys. _You_ are responsible for your own lives, as scary as that can be, _believe me_. But, on the up side?” She adds in a cheerier voice, and reaches across the short distance to pat Sam’s arm in a friendly, reassuring way. “It means that you _are_ real. And I _promise_ you – from the bottom of my heart – what you did, what you do, and what you will choose to do in the future, _does matter_.”

Sam is a little more touched by this than he expected to be, and glances down and away, half smiling, half working through his emotions. Dean also appears to be processing. Some of what Becky said is reassuring. Some, less so.

“And, uh, what is it you’ve chosen to do?” Sam asks her.

Becky settles back in her seat, a little pleased at having been a part of a “chick flick” moment.

“Well. After I was brought back from – from wherever Chuck sent me and everyone else, I realized that I could be doing more.”

“More?”

“More to help. Because that’s what it’s all about, right? Saving people and hunting things? At the end of the day, it’s about helping people. And that’s what my writing – lots of people’s writing – does. It helps people. Fanfiction helps Supernatural fans not only create and imagine and participate in something they love. It also helps us process our own lives, the world we live in. And so I got to thinking. There’s all these people in the Supernatural fandom who want to create and share a better world. For you, but also for others around them. And that we could, as individuals and as a fandom, be doing _more_ of that.”

“Because of my writing and my involvement in the fandom, I’ve made a lot of friends, a lot of connections, all over the country, and even all over the world. And I thought – no, I _knew_ – that could be used for something good. We could never be hunters, but hunting isn’t the only way to help. The Supernatural fandom has artists and social workers and journalists and doctors. People who love research, people good with tech and data. Average, every day people who can be capable of the most amazing acts of kindness and generosity. And we have you,” she smiles proudly at the boys, “inspiring us to _fight_ for each other, to fight for what’s good about humanity.”

“Okay,” Sam says, still confused but also delighted at Becky’s enthusiasm and good intentions. “That’s – that’s great, Becky. We – ” He incorporates a less than enthusiastic Dean for Becky’s benefit, “we’re really happy that we could, you know, inspire so many people. But, what does that have to do with what Dave was talking about?”

“Sometimes, wanting to help? Meaning well?” Dean says, and shakes his head. “It’s just not enough.”

“Of course it’s not,” Becky rebukes him. “Good intentions alone can never be enough. But you bring people with talents and skills and passion together, give them a cause, something they believe in. Something worth fighting for. That’s when you begin to really achieve something.”

“Plenty of people out in the world have experienced the supernatural – the _real_ supernatural. They’ve seen it, or it runs in their family, and no one believes them. Or they’ve lost loved ones to it, and they’ve got no one to talk to about it. I mean, who was I supposed to tell that I had dated a _prophet_ who _saw_ things? Or someone who lost their spouse or child to a monster? To demon possession? How are they supposed to emotionally process something they’re not even allowed to _talk_ about, without being thought crazy? How are they supposed to move forward with their lives? _You_ know what that’s like. The things you’ve been through.”

Sam and Dean nod. They _do_ know what that’s like. What it’s like to only be able to talk with other hunters, people like Jody or Bobby, people who might understand. And even then, there are things that are just too difficult, too personal to talk about even with those they trust or care about.

“Good or bad, people need to be able to share their experiences with others. They need to feel like they’re not alone. And that’s just _not_ something hunters can offer them.”

“So,” Becky says, attempting to set aside the intensity of her declaration, “I started doing a little organizing in the fandom, and reaching out to people I thought were either effected by or aware of the supernatural, or might be able to help. A few online therapy groups, for people who’ve survived attacks by monsters or had ghosts in their homes, that sort of thing. Or thought that something runs in their family. Set up some support groups and online forums for vampires trying to navigate a ‘vegetarian’ diet. There’s a hunter-turned-dentist up in Wisconsin who specializes in werewolf dentistry, and is interesting in helping other cryptids get access to health care.” She’s ticking off her fingers now. “I’ve made a few connections within some police task forces to create a database for missing persons, people who were possessed by demons and their bodies abandoned halfway across the country. With social workers pioneering a way to match kids orphaned by the supernatural with families who know about the supernatural and can take the kids in. I’m working with some retired EMTS and white witches to put together prevention kits that families can request, free of charge, which required finding donors. People to teach self-defense classes against monsters, magic, demons, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, Becky, that’s – ” Sam is blow away. “That’s _a lot_. You’re doing all of that?”

“Not just me, Sam. That’s the point. _We’re_ doing it, the fandom, and people outside it. Though,” she looks rather proud of herself. “I _do_ run one of the major networking hubs, an online discussion group, and chair the main development committee. When all this started, we only met on Tuesdays. But there are just – just _so_ many people who started reaching out. Sharing their stories, looking for help. Looking _to_ help. That it’s become fulltime. And now, it feels like _every day_ is Tuesday.”

Sam blinks, hard. He looks around them for a moment, concerned, while Dean gives Becky a look that holds a lot more respect than it did a few minutes before.

“So when your friend Dave was talking about redefining what it means to save people. He wasn’t just talking about changing hunting, changing everyone’s perspective on monsters.”

“It’s about how hunting is just a very small piece of a much bigger picture,” Becky agrees. “We need to be creating connections. Changing the way we think about and respond to non-predatory monsters. And, by the way? Not calling them monsters just because they’re not human.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, starting to smile. “I got that part.”

“Becky,” Sam says, leaning forward, “All of this, everything that you’re working on, that you’re helping to build. You know it’s going to change things, right? And not just for us, or for you or the people who’re directly involved with the supernatural. For everyone. Humans, monsters. All of us.”

“That’s – ” Becky bites her bottom lip, eyes wide in Beckyish delight. “ – kinda the point.”

Sam chuckles. “Okay, yeah. But – ” He shakes his head, and adds only half-jokingly. “Becky, what are _we_ supposed to do, if you and the fandom – if you’re out there finding a new way to save the world?”

And she smiles, a bright tenderness that sees the Winchesters – virtues and faults both – and loves them. Becky reaches across again, and rests her hand on Sam’s. “How about you let the people you saved, save you now.”

* * *

In the parking lot of Edlund’s Eats, the boys make their way over to the Impala, clearly contemplating everything the day and this case has presented them with. It’s a lot to think about.

“So?” Sam asks.

“So,” Dean replies, “I don’t see why the hell not. Changing the world, from the ground up? Sounds a hell of a lot harder than all of the ways you and I have tried to do it. Apocalypses. Trying to – to rewrite all the rules, have a say in who rules Hell, who manages Heaven, who’s _God._ I mean, who knows? If the story isn’t all about us anymore? Maybe it’s time everyone else had a say.”

Sam nods, smiles a little. Doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.

“You know, maybe,” Dean continues, “Maybe if something like this had been around for – ” He stops. Thinks about it. His voice is a little rough when he starts to speak again. “For dad, after mom was killed. For us. When we were kids. For Kevin’s mom, or Benny, or your friend Amy. You know? Maybe things could have been a hell of a lot different for a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, sadly. “Well, maybe now, for others. It can be.”

Dean nods, and continues on to the car.

As the walk around to their respective sides of the Impala, to lighten the mood a little, Sam teases his brother.

“By the way, aren’t you getting a little old to eat like that?”

Over the roof the car, Dean gives his brother a mock serious look. “Sam, the day I’m too old for a double bacon and cheese is the day you light my funeral pyre.”

Sam laughs, and the two hunters open their car doors.

There is the familiar flap of angel wings.

Dean freezes. He stares down into the Impala, takes a hard swallow. Looks up at his brother. Sam is staring, shocked, over Dean’s shoulder.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes. Opens them. Turns around.

Castiel is waiting there for him, a short distance away. Dressed in his familiar trench coat, smiling that soft, slightly crooked grin of his.

“Hello, Dean.”

* * *

**_Mid-Two Hour Episode Commercial Break_ **

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

In the parking lot of Edlund’s Eats, Sam and Dean stare at the angel that has just appeared with the flap of his trench coat. Castiel, fully restored, smiling softly at his two friends.

Sam stands slack-jawed, the surprise melting into relief and delight.

Dean doesn’t look surprised at all. He looks furious.

“You _sonuvabitch_!” He shouts, slamming his car door and storming towards Castiel. “Where _the_ _Hell_ have you been?!”

Cas falters, but in a purely human way. His smile ages into an expression that is warm and weary – and relieved at the welcome he receives. There’s a hint of Cas sass when he replies to Dean’s anger with: “It’s good to see you, too.”

The angel looks around the hunter, and nods in commiseration. “Sam.”

Sam is a little tear-eyed at the reunion. “Hey, Cas.”

Dean isn’t having any of it. The anger is melting into hurt and confusion, but there’s relief there, too. It’s just painful, in this moment. “Damn it, Cas,” Dean breaths. He’s two steps from the angel now. The two stand in the parking lot, facing one another. The battered hunter in his jeans and flannel, the fallen angel in his rumpled trench coat. Older and wiser and more vulnerable than they’ve ever been before. “I prayed to you, man!” Dean’s voice catches. “And you couldn’t answer me? Not once?!”

Cas looks hesitantly from Dean to Sam, and then back again.

“I understand you’re upset,” he says after a moment, in that familiar gravelly voice. “We should talk. Someplace else.”

There is the flutter of angel wings –

– and the parking lot is empty.

* * *

The Winchester brothers and Castiel are standing in the living room of Bobby Singer’s house. Bobby’s house, with its red and gold patterned wall paper, the shabby couch, the box television set. The shelves and desk and almost every conceivable surface covered in books or printed articles.

“What the Hell?” Dean manages, looking around them. He checks himself. He’s here. Sam’s here. Castiel, still two feet away. “Where the Hell are we? Is this…?”

“We are some place – ” Cas tilts his head from one side to the other, looking for the best way to explain, “ – Heaven adjacent. Somewhere we can talk. And I thought you’d feel more comfortable in a familiar setting.”

Cas looks around the room, with an expression of acute nostalgia. There are the books on lore along the shelves, the half-empty bottles of booze scattered around. Tucked away on a back shelf, the Supernatural books crowd together. There is a photo of Rufus and Bobby out in the junkyard, a photo of Karen Singer, of the Winchesters as actual boys. Bobby’s hat rests on the desk, like he’s just stepped out, and will be back any moment.

The room isn’t entirely the same as Bobby’s, but it’s very close. A fond memory, carefully constructed.

“It is good to be back,” Cas says. He turns, glancing into the kitchen, smiling. “These were simpler times. Though it didn’t seem like it then. Here, in this house,” he tells them, “was where I learned humanity, with all its virtues and faults, was something worth fighting for. You taught me that.”

He turns back around to face Dean.

In Dean’s face is every possible human emotion. He’s angry and he’s exuberant. He is relieved and hurt and desperate. Cas sees the war of emotions on Dean’s face. There is such softness and reminiscence in his own expression.

“Cas, man – ” Dean swallows, looks for words. “It’s good to see you. It is. I’m glad you’re not in the Empty or angelic Hell or whatever. But you _gotta_ tell me what’s going on.”

“How did you get out?” Sam asks, somewhat calmer than his brother. “We’ve been looking, and I haven’t been able to find anything. Did Jack bust you?”

Cas looks a little cheeky. “Ah, yes and no,” he replies.

Something in the angel’s demeanor sets Dean straight. He ducks his head, nods sharply. Runs a hand over the lower half of his face, turns away. He paces over to Bobby’s desk, turns and leans back against it. Waits.

Standing alone in the middle of the room, Cas spreads his hands in a shrug, begins his tale. “Jack’s explosion in the Empty. It woke up all the beings trapped there. Chuck must have designed it so that even in death, angels and demons were never entirely gone, just – just toys trapped in their boxes, just waiting for him to pull them back out to continue playing with.”

“I ended up there as well, a pawn that had forgotten its place, a puppet without strings. But after what Jack had unleashed, all that power, nothing in there was asleep any longer. All of us, shouting. Calling to each other through the darkness. Reaching out. Making connections. Finding each other. I found angels I knew, some who were soldiers in my legion, some I knew as friends. Some – ” Cas looks momentarily ashamed “ – I had slain. Gabriel. Balthazar. Anna. And demons, too.”

Dean is listening. His emotions are forgotten. Sam looks like he’s bearing the weight of that experience right along with the angel.

“There were so very many of us.” Cas continues, “Until the Empty was no longer empty. It was a place full of agency, of intent. That cosmic entity, that vastness. We realized we could fill it with our intent, if only we worked together. So, we did. We wanted out. We wanted our freedom, from the Empty, from Chuck, from the stories we’d been forced to live as our lives.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says, leaning back on the desk, arms crossed, looking a little smug. “I wonder who gave them that idea.”

Cas smiles cheekily, looking a little proud of himself, and glances up as if he can see all those puppet strings that never could properly bind him. “It would seem all of the criticism about my being naturally defective is true. Rebellion, it seems, comes naturally to me.”

“We would not have managed it if Chuck had still had his power, however.” Cas continues. “But you made sure that he didn’t.” He looks first at Sam, fondly, and then at Dean with something more, something profound.

Dean leverages himself up off the desk, moves back into the inner circle of the room. Sam joins him. Team Free Will, reunited.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says softly to the two of them, “that I wasn’t there to help you defeat Chuck in the end. Jack told me, how you withstood him. I never doubted you would. You have your free will, now and forever.”

“Yeah, we do.” Dean nods. “And so do you.”

“Yes,” Cas replies, simply. “Jack believes rather strongly in the value of free will. He heard all of us, trapped inside what had been the Empty. And he let us out. Let the angels decide whether they wanted to return to Heaven, or truly end.”

“That’s where I’ve been,” he clarifies, “Helping him change things. It’s been only a few months for you, but it’s been…” He smiles apologetically, “some time for me. There’s been a lot to do. I would have answered you if I could have, Dean. But remaking reality. It takes a lot of focus, a great deal of intention.”

“Guess I can’t be too mad about that,” Dean admits. There is a smile at the corner of his lips, threatening to expand.

“So the Empty’s just – gone?” Sam asks.

“Yes. It’s no longer needed. Angels and demons can still die. But when we do, we just – cease. The divine energy that made us – angels and demons – goes back into the world, to create new things, new lives, new worlds. The same with human souls, from now on. Everything is sustainable now, every new soul a part of others that came before it. Everything living on in something worthwhile, be it a honey bee or a thunderstorm or a song that makes someone want to dance or an idea for a story. Everything is eternal, but also at peace.”

“That – that sounds really nice,” Sam says, and means it.

“So what then,” Dean says, always the cautious cynic. “No more Heaven? No Hell?”

“That’s the idea. It – ” Cas could almost be mistaken for doing an eye roll as he makes what is clearly an understatement. “ – took some time. There were hundreds of thousands of generations of souls in Heaven. And in Hell. Most weren’t really souls anymore, they’ve been in one place or the other for so long. They’ve lost all sense of self, and are now just – ” How to explain it in human terms? “ – energy. Bright energy, dark energy. Both are needed for balance, to create and destroy. Jack used a lot of that to undo what Chuck did. To remake the other worlds.”

“Wait, wait, so Jack – he remade those worlds?!” Sam asks. “ _All of them_?”

“Yes. And put back the people and animals and everything in them that Chuck destroyed. Including the Bobby and Charlie and others from that apocalypse world. Which, obviously, Jack cleaned up a little.” And Cas attempts and fails not to smile with his whole being. There is pride there. And love. “He’s really doing a great job. You’d be proud of him.”

“And, how many souls did that take?” Dean asks uneasily. “Like, are they all gone?”

“Most are,” Cas replies, “But the more recent souls are still in Heaven. Those that are still reliving their best moments. They will fade away naturally, once they’ve experienced what they need to experience. Like your parents.”

“Mom?” Dean asks, not able to force out more than that. The catch is his voice is painful to hear, and unconsciously Dean reaches ever so slightly back behind him for his brother. Sam is there, of course, heart in his eyes.

“With your father.” Cas says reassuringly. “Happy, and safe, both of them.” The boys visibly relax. “It will be a long while before it’s their turn. But it also means,” he adds, catching Dean’s eye and making sure he understands entirely, “you will never see them again.”

Both Winchesters take a moment to process this. Sam takes a deep breath, lets his shoulders fall. Dean wipes his hand over his face again, eyes the floor. Then, with a sort of settling, they are at peace.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I get it.” He nods, looks to Sam. “I get it. But you know what?” He looks back to Cas, and smiles a poignant, accepting smile. “That’s okay.”

Cas nods, slowly. He knows what this means for the boys. It is peace. But it is also loss.

Sam is the first to recover. “What, ah, what about the angels? The ones let out of the Empty?”

“For now, the angels are helping with Jack’s plans. Well – ” This time, Cas does roll his eyes. “ – except Gabriel, of course. He’s off in Boca Raton.” Cas shakes off his exasperation at his older, wayward brother. “But there were those that are happy to have a purpose again. And there were those that chose to end. When all of this is over, the work complete?” Cas raising his trench coated arms again in a slight shrug. “Then we will all be free to do as we choose. To stay and care for the remaining souls until they too fade into the ether. Or to explore and enjoy and live in the world we helped to create. It is our choice.”

“Until then, we are fortunate to be led by someone with more vision, resolve and – ” Cas makes a self-deprecating face “ – more patience than I could ever muster.” He grins at Dean, tilts his head in a wink-wink nod. “A real Obi-wan Kenobi sort.”

“So, not you then,” Dean surmises.

In a very human gesture, Cas licks his lips and tries to hold back a smile. “I asked myself, who knows best when it comes to getting a bunch of stubborn jackasses who don’t know any better to grow up and work together?” He points past the Winchesters. Sam and Dean follow his gaze, and see the scuffed-up old hat resting on top of the desk.

Sam breaks into a teary smile. “Bobby.”

“He’s up there ‘busting balls,’ as he likes to put it.” Cas looks between Sam and Dean, clearly very pleased to be serving as messenger. “He told me to tell you – he knew you’d kick it in the ass.”

Sam and Dean laugh – Sam an actual laugh, not his usual soft huff, and Dean a bark that jumps right out of him. The two brothers laugh, wipe away tears. It obviously feels good, a release. A moment of clarity and assurance. Everything is okay. Everything is going to be okay.

“Bobby always did like to straighten out people that he thought had their heads up their asses,” Dean remarks, shaking his head. He brushes away an excess tear with the back of his hand, sniffs a little. Sam is still chuckling, pats his brother lightly on the back.

It is a good moment between them. This is a chance to breathe.

“So,” Sam asks after a moment, easier, “What about Hell, then? Those souls, those trapped there, they were mostly used up to remake the way the world works?”

“It seemed the best course of action. Before long, the Gates of Hell will close, and then cease to exist entirely. There will be no more souls corrupted and twisted into demons, into beings of darkness and suffering.”

“Rowena can’t be too happy about that.” Dean doesn’t look like he’s too upset by the idea.

“Actually,” Cas draws out, “Rowena was offered her mortality back. She’s chosen to return, as though she never sacrificed herself to send all those souls back to Hell. Making another go of it, as she put it. Already the demons were threatening to rise up against her. And – ” He adds, not without sympathy, “ – she says ruling Hell was – quote –“ Cas makes little quotation marks with his fingers “ – ‘not as grand’ as she’d expected it would be. That she was bored with absolute power. Between you and me? I think becoming Queen of Hell, Rowena was just making the best of a bad situation. It wasn’t what she really wanted, deep down.”

“Yeah, well. That runs in the family, I guess,” Dean mutters, looking away.

“The demons were a more difficult matter,” Cas admits, “but Crowley was fairly insistent on the best course of – ”

Dean jerks up, eyes wide. “Wait, hold on. _Crowley_?”

“I had my doubts at first,” Cas admits begrudgingly, “but we needed someone with his cunning and foresight, especially where it concerned what to do with all the souls in Hell. Which, eventually resolved into what to do with the souls in Heaven as well. And Purgatory.” Cas looks like he’s torn between annoyance and a grudging respect. This time, the eye roll is a definite. “When I mentioned things were stable enough I could finally come back here, to see you, he told me to say – ” The angel looks exceptionally uncomfortable at serving as courier for a demon, but is diligent in his duties. In a voice slightly gruffer than his own, he says “ ‘Hello, boys.’ ”

While Sam huffs and smiles, Dean looks he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He puts his hands on his hips, opens his mouth. Closes it again. Half raises his arms in a shrug, before letting them drop to his sides.

Finally, he manages to say “I - I thought Crowley didn’t want anything more to do with Hell.”

“He, uh, he doesn’t. But – ” Cas sighs, resigned. “Crowley _offered_ to help. And we needed another person in a ‘managerial’ role. Crowley _is_ more than qualified and it’s understood to only be a temporary arrangement, not unlike my own.”

“He proposed – and we agreed – that while the souls in Hell were to become energy, those already perverted into demons were to be offered a choice. They were, after all, a part of Chuck’s whole mess up with Amara and Lucifer and all the rest of it. Like angels, demons are no longer needed, and – ” Cas quirks an eyebrow “ – even less wanted. So they were allowed to choose to either end and become energy to be used in the world, or continue to exist as dark spirits, tormenters of humankind, birthed from humanity’s own innate evil. Things to be hunted, as well as learned from. With, of course, a few exceptions. Crowley, regrettably,” Cas shakes his head again, looking utterly exasperated, “among them.”

Dean bites his lower lip before huffing out a slight laugh, looks down, nods. He’s clearly taken by emotion again, and this time trying to hide it.

Sam eyes his brother, not without sympathy. This road has been too long and too hard, and some things are better set aside, even if they can’t be forgiven.

Cas’ gaze slides from Dean to Sam, and catches the younger Winchester’s eye.

“Crowley told me to tell you, Sam,” Cas starts, uncertain. “That he – ” The angel tilts his head to one side, squints. “ – that he finally know where to start looking?”

Sam gets it, after a moment. He smiles, sincerely.

“Good to hear it.”

“You tell that sonuvabitch,” Dean says roughly, “you tell him for us that while he’ll never be enough of a dick to earn a pair of wings, he’s certainly earned himself an honorary flannel.”

Cas rocks a little on his heels, raises a knowing eyebrow at Dean, almost jokingly. “Are you sure you want me to pass along that message, Dean? Knowing Crowley, he’ll take it as an invitation to visit.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean smiles. “I owe him a drink.”

“So, that’s it then?” Sam asks, after a moment. “We saved the world from Chuck. And Jack is remaking it for the better.”

“Yes.”

“You were right about him, you know.” Dean can’t quite look at Cas. “About Jack. From the beginning. I should have listened to you.”

“I can’t take all the credit.” Cas is serious now, forces Dean to meet his gaze. “Dean, Jack wasn’t good because he was born that way, because of who his mother was, or because I believed in him. Jack became a good person because he had people who _loved_ him. Who showed him what it was to be compassionate and brave, to think for himself. To look at other people and see individuals deserving of respect, even if he didn’t know them personally.” Cas’ gaze is exceptionally tender. “He had you.” Cas looks up at Sam. “And you, Sam. And the light you both carry inside you, carried even through all the darkness you’ve been through in your own lives.”

“ _I_ was wrong.” Cas admits, easily. “Jack didn’t make the world a paradise. It’s not perfect,” he stresses. "There’s still pain and suffering, and the need to strive to make it better. Because that’s what makes this world and humanity and _life_ meaningful, and _worth fighting for_. The chance to work together. With hope and faith that in doing so, _we can make it better_ , for ourselves and for others.”

Dean nods to himself, then looks to Cas. “So, ah, you’re saying the world still needs hunters, then.”

“Yes,” Cas replies. “That’s part of the duality of existence. Part of what keeps it all in balance. What you call monsters? They’re not _supernatural_ at all. They’re a natural part of the world. Ghosts and vampires and wendigos. Not everything in the world can get along.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Sam says. He stands up straight, proud. “Because dealing with things that like? That’s what we’re here for.”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a vacation.” His gaze traces something along the floorboard, then drifts up, guarded, to Castiel. “Whatdaya say, Cas? All that world building? You wanna take a couple days, join me and Sammy on a beach somewhere, or on the lake? Go fishing, just the three of us?”

“I’d like that,” Cas says, sincerely. Dean’s tension eases in light of his friend’s casual smile.

“Actually…” Cas hesitates. He shuffles a bit, looks down at his feet, swallows. “For now, I need to stay close to Heaven, until everything is settled. Everything is…resolved. And then?” He looks uncertain. It takes him a try or two to find the right words. Even then, he shrugs and shuffles about as he says, “I thought perhaps, after some time, I might rejoin you. In the bunker, or on a hunt. If – ” Cas glances from Dean to Sam and back twice more, fumbles, “ – if I’m welcome, that is.

Sam looks confused, huffs a disconcerted laugh. Looks between his brother and the angel. “Cas,” he finally manages, “ _of course_ you are.”

“Yeah, man,” Dean swallows, says sincerely. “We’ve missed you. _I’ve_ missed you.” Dean puts stress on the last bit like he desperately needs Cas to understand whatever it is he’s not saying. Whatever it is Dean’s not entirely certain he’s ready to say.

“I – ” Cas cocks his head to himself, spreads his arms to take in his corporeal form, but also obviously far more than that. There is a small, self-conscious grimace that crosses his face. “I _do_ have all my powers back now. Jack restored what Chuck had been forcing to fade.”

“Powers?” Dean shakes his head, vehemently. He looks downright furious. Or maybe exhausted. Or maybe both – because this is just ridiculous. “Cas, let me be really clear about this, okay? Because I think you need to hear it and, who knows, maybe I need to say it.” Dean holds up a hand between him and the angel, like a knife he’s cutting through whatever seems to be keeping them apart. “We don’t give a _damn_ about your powers. Okay? We never have. You’re one of _us_. You could be an angel or a human or the new Joshua or – or a Teletubby, for all we care. Okay? So long as you’re _here_. You’ve chosen us – I can’t count how many times. If you need to hear me says it, I’ll say it.” Dean licks his lips, steps forward, resolute. “We want you to stay, Cas. _I_ want you to stay, okay?”

Dean holds Cas’ eyes with intent. The angel stares back.

Softly, from off to the side, Sam adds, “You’re family, Cas.”

For a moment longer, Dean and Cas continue to stare at one another. There is some sort of recognition or acknowledgement that passes between them, some relenting on Castiel’s part. His expression shifts, he nods. Dean clenches and unclenches his jaw.

The he nods, and backs away.

“Thank you,” Cas says softly. He’s clearly deeply touched.

There is an awkward moment, while everyone gathers themselves. Dean refuses to make eye contact with anyone. Sam looks to his brother, to Castiel, who is also watching Dean, uncertain. After a moment, Cas raises his head and makes eye contact with Sam. He opens his mouth, raises his brows, looking for the right thing to say.

He doesn’t need to worry. Understanding dawns on Sam’s face. He half raises a hand in acknowledgement, lets it fall. Steps away, giving the hunter and the angel some space.

Cas clenches and unclenches his fists, shuffles slightly, looks around. He waits for Dean to raise his head and look at him.

“Dean,” Cas says his name softly, cautiously. He searches for the right words, and finds only his own insufficient ones. “About – about what I said. Before the Empty took me – ”

“Hey,” Dean interjects, with a single shake of his head. It’s not harsh. But it is firm. “You _are_ gonna come back, right? And not just to stop in now and then. But actually stay. Right?”

Cas narrows his eyes. Considers the question and the moment and the man before him. Nods.

“Then we got time, you and me.” Dean says.

Cas smiles. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

Dean swallows hard. Nods. “Okay. Good.” He clears his throat, takes a half step away. The intensity of the moment eases. Cas shuffles slightly, embarrassed and happy and unsure exactly what to do with himself now. He casts a glance from under his brows at Dean, then raises his head and nods at Sam.

Sam steps back into their little circle, which widens to include him. Clears his throat in that typical Sam way.

Castiel looks between the two Winchester brothers, smiling slightly. The three of them, gathered together in that circle in Bobby’s house, reunited and victorious and free. They look to one another, smiling, just being in and sharing in the moment. There are still responsibilities they shoulder, causes they have bound themselves to, and people who need them. But they are welcome responsibilities, causes that matter, and people who give in return. Sam pats his brother on the shoulder, Dean shakes his head, laughing.

“So,” he says, allowing the moment and the emotions to balance themselves out. “That’s really it, then. No more – no more divine destinies. No more predetermined fate. No Heaven or Hell. Everything is just – whatever we make it?” When Cas nods, Dean shakes his head, looking intensely pleased. “Hell yeah,” he says. “If that isn’t free will – for us, for everybody – I don’t know what is.”

“This life. Saving people, hunting things,” Cas says, looking like he knows something he’s not telling. “If you choose this life now, you _are_ doing it of your own free will.”

Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly, with sincerity. “Yeah, we are.”

“Well, then. If that’s your decision – “ Cas’ grin is tinged with sly amusement. He tips his head in a conspiratorial manner. “ – there are some people who would like to help.”

Sam huffs, looks to Dean and back at the angel. “Uh, sure. Who?”

“You two aren’t the only one who deserve the opportunity to live your lives free of divine intervention. There are others – ” Cas says, his grin just about slipping the reins, “ – family – who want to help. If you’ll have them.”

“Family,” Dean turns the word over, like something well-worn and well-loved. There is a weightlessness to the emotion in his eyes. A hope, maybe for the very first time, in the potential of a future. A belief that, yes, good things _can_ actually happen. Around unshed tears, Dean Winchester takes a breath, and smiles.

“I like the sound of that.”

* * *

As the finale episode of Supernatural nears its end, the first cords of “Suit And Jacket” by Judah And The Lion begin to play, set to a montage of reunion and family.

The lights in the bunker turn on in the library, the corridors, the map room. Dean is in the library, standing at one of the tables, running his hands over the initials carved into the wood. Sam is at the top of the stairs, at the bunker’s entrance. The glimpse from the other side of the door as Sam opens it. Dean looks up, sees who it is. Smiles.

Castiel in what will clearly be his room in the bunker from now on. The photo of the Winchesters and himself, Bobby and the Harvelles on the eve of the Apocalypse. The mixed tape from Dean. A small book of poetry, with a note taped to the cover that reads “For Clarence.” His room, his place in the world.

Charlie comes bounding down the bunker stairs. She and Dean pull each other into eager hugs, Dean’s face as he pulls her in showing how desperately grateful he is to have her back.

Eileen and Sam in the map room, holding each other’s hands. Eileen reaches up, runs a hand over Sam’s cheek. He closes his eyes, breathes her in. She raises her hand, signs “I love you.” Sam half laughs, half chokes up. Nods. Signs it back. Eileen presses her lips into a smile, laughs herself, half crying. Sam pulls her close, and never lets go.

The store room in the bunker begins to empty out. Working together, Dean and Sam, Eileen and Cas, Charlie and others that begin to appear carry out boxes and papers. The table in the library piles up with books and boxes and small containers and spell ingredients and strange artifacts. Sam sorts through the books on the shelves in the library.

Rowena climbs up the short steps into the library, looking resplendent in royal purples and golds, grinning slyly. She winks at Sam, is greeted with a nod and half-smile from Dean.

A massive blueprint is unrolled on the table in the map room, showing schematics and electronic wiring and building infrastructure of the bunker. Charlie and Cas and Sam stand round, discussing and gesturing and planning how to expand, what to improve. The schematic changes, new lines drawn, new rooms added, warding scribbled in the margins. 

Dean looks up from something he’s working on and sees Crowley sauntering into the library. The former demon has his hands stuffed into his overcoat, a smug look on his face, raises a brow at the hunter. Dean laughs, strides towards him, pulls Crowley into a hug. Pounds him on the back. Crowley looks relieved, amused. He laughs and returns the hug.

Cas gathering everyone together, explaining. The others nodding, looking from one to the other.

The library and the storage room, the old offices and the infirmary, everywhere resources and artifacts are being sorted and catalogued. Crowley, having removed his overcoat, carries in more items from his own personal stash. Rowena sorts through the spellbooks, making annotations and corrections. Sam and Dean examine and log weapons. Cas and Eileen work side by side properly labeling and storing items. Dean at the computer, researching. Cas, reviewing wards. Rowena sorting through spell components in the infirmary.

Becky on her laptop, set up at the old switchboard, showing Sam the network she’s created, explaining what has been designed so far and how it all works.

Down the stairs comes Kevin, hair ruffled but beard well-trimmed, bag over his shoulder. Looking happy and enthusiastic. Sam pulls him into a hug, Dean slaps him on the back.

Charlie on her back up under a console, pulling apart old wiring. The map room begins to change, as new technology replaces the old. Switchboards are replaced with computer screens, large modems, sleek interfacing. The map with its plastic circles is replaced with a conference table. Slim data banks replace the obsolete dials and gauges, the ham radio and the analog tape recorder and all the, outdated, inoperable machinery. The walls are now lined with high-resolution flat screens displaying news story alerts and mapping active cases. Charlie stands looking around at it all, brushing hair back from her face, clearly proud of herself.

In a board room with a city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Crowley slides a dossier of paperwork to a number of suited gentlemen and women. One is a contract, to sell the moon for a fairly large sum. Deals are made, hands shaken. The financial stability of their little organization is secured.

At the new computer banks, Kevin is digitalizing their resources, creating a database. Book after book is registered as scanned and available for viewing. Charlie at a newly installed console, hacking into police and government files, setting news alerts, writing encryption and code. Eileen chatting on forums, connecting with other hunters, directing people in need of assistance or resources, listening to all the people calling out to each other through the dark. Standing around the new conference table together, Dean, Charlie, and Crowley in more casual clothes point out and discuss options for designing their network, providing access to their resources, assigning cases and tracking contacts, maintaining open case files. Digital blue lines stretch out from Kansas, making contact with points all over the country and beyond its borders, a community coming to life.

Sam, looking rather clean cut and dapper, in an open office space somewhere, meeting with Men and Women of Letters and supernatural scholars and demonologists from around the world – from India and Brazil and China and Nigeria and Mexico and England – shaking hands. Sitting down to talk, to build, rather than control or destroy.

Charlie and Crowley plotting out logistics together over cups of tea and huge slices of cake. Laughing, actually enjoying each other’s company. Rowena laying out specific supplies next to neatly written index cards. Iron-plated gloves, small bottles of various spell components. Each additional item a new weapon in the arsenal she is designing for the new breed of hunter.

Sam coming back from a jog, running up the road to the bunker. He sees a familiar figure waiting by the door. It’s Meg, dressed in her usual black, sleek attire, hair its dark brown shade. Hands stuffed in pockets, eyebrow raised, smirk already untwisting into a real grin. Sam huffs into the cold air, smiles.

An unremarkable diner somewhere, Crowley at a table in dark, casual clothes, sitting with a shifting array of characters. Hunters, cryptids, monsters that can pass as human. All of them, listening as he explains this new way of the world, this new hunter’s guild with all it has to offer, open to them, here to help rather than harm. Kevin in the control room, bringing up cases on the flat screens and going over the details with a small group of hunters, all of them nodding along. Sam, gathered with hunters in their homes, in diners, in parking lots. Listening to them, to their stories, their experiences, their fears and their needs. Nodding along, making notes, shaking hands.

The Impala rumbles up to the house in Conway Springs, Kansas. Dean gets out, leans back against the car. Young hunters Krissy, Aiden and Josephine, looking all grown up, come down the porch stairs to see the older hunter parked outside their home. Dean smiles, waves. A new generation, coming of age in a world with a brighter future. Sam fast asleep with his head on a pile of lore books at the library table. Eileen comes around and softly brushes her hand along his arm, leaves a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Claire introducing Dean to an all-grown-up Ben Braedon. There is pride in Dean’s eyes, and hesitation. Ben looks at the man in front of him, and slowly, recognition dawns. He smiles in surprise, and Dean, relieved, smiles back. Cas in the back of the library, looking through the bunker telescope, seeing all the universes restored. A grin cracks across his face.

With a flap of his old pea coat and a dip of his flatcap, Benny strides into the bunker. Dean gives him a hug, Sam shakes his hand. With a wave of his arm, Dean begins a tour of the newly renovated bunker, offers a beer.

Sam turning his bedroom into an office space, moving out the bed and dresser, moving in shelves and filing cabinets, a multiple-screen computer setup and better lighting. And the table from the library, with the boy’s and Mary’s initials carved in it. When everything is in place, he stands in the center of the room, hands on hips, and looks around, pleased. Dean adding touches to the Fortress of Deanitude. A foosball table, a karaoke machine, a dart board, a gaming console. He hangs an iron-wrought sign that reads The Black Spur over by the bar. And then he opens the door, and invites all his friends and family inside.

Dean and Sam and Eileen and Cas in the kitchen. Cooking together, preparing a meal, laughing. Sam dabs butter on the end of Eileen’s nose. Dean in an apron, lifts a heavily laden plate high as Cas ducks underneath to pass by him and grab something. The four of them sitting down to eat, clinking their glasses together.

Dean and Sam in the Impala, the road racing ahead of them. Dean driving and Sam hard at work in the passenger’s seat.

Sam responding to a hunter’s call for help. Jody and Donna working a case together. Dean and Claire on a hunt in the American northwest. Sam and Becky, arriving at the door of a family in need. Cas tending to an injured cryptid, applying angelic healing. Asking them where it hurts, can they move their arm now, the person nodding in gratitude.

Sam and Garth, Meg and Benny sitting around together in a therapy circle, talking, sharing. Ben helping a family put a ghost gently to rest. Meg hunting demons, trapping the demon in a dark, abandoned barn. Working an exorcism, helping the person up afterwards, letting them lean on her as they stumble out into the daylight together. Sam and Rowena working a spell, Sam reading off the incantation and Rowena offering advice, as braided wisps of flame rise up from their conjuring bowl.

Dean slamming up against the exterior of an industrial building in the dark, ushering over a young hunter with a wave of his hand. The young man scurries over, peers at the lock on the door. Dean keeps a look-out and gives instructions as the hunter-in-training learns lock picking skills on the job.

In a house somewhere, Claire fights off a monster, while Kaia helps the family escape. Charlie lightning fast responding to an alert on the wide screens in the control room. Garth working with a group of vampires to get supplies from a blood bank. Rowena using her powers to help break a family curse. Meg and Castiel, fighting back to back against a whirling black cloud of demonic smoke. She glances over her shoulder at him, winks. Cas grins, and as one, they charge into the fray.

Jody at home, hosting a small gathering in which families who have been effected by the supernatural attend counseling sessions. Claire walking into a police station, being directed to a young child all alone, clutching a stuffed animal. One more person orphaned by the supernatural. She kneels next to them, smiles, asks them something. They nod, and after a moment, take her hand. Benny, bag over his shoulder, returning to that gumbo shack in Carencro, Louisiana, returning to his great-granddaughter and the chance at family. Claire and that same little kid walking up to a nice looking home. The door opens to reveal a couple, who carefully greet the child, talk with them, pulls them into their arms. Claire smiles despite her tears, doesn’t wait for the family to say goodbye, walks back down the steps, her expression a combination of resolve and peace.

Dean helping a pair of young hunters on a case, showing them the ropes, watching their backs. Eileen in a motel room, signing over a video call to Sam, who is at the bunker. Alex smiling as she patches up Claire, who sees her found sister grinning knowingly at her, and smiles awkwardly back. Not all families get along all the time, but its making the effort that matters. Cas and Meg in the bunker kitchen, kicking back, sharing a pizza and laughter after a case.

Crowley, dressed in dark jeans and a loose henley, laying the Demon Tablet alongside other highly valuable or dangerous items, closes the door on the new vault somewhere within the bowels of the bunker. He returns to the library to find Dean waiting for him, with two glassed of what must surely be Craig in hand. Dean passes one to Crowley, they share a smile, and clink their glasses together.

Cas tenderly hangs up his trench coat in his room, slips on a flannel shirt over a t-shirt. Looks himself over in the mirror. And smiles.

Dinner at Jody’s house, with Donna and all the girls around the table. Dean leaning against the Impala and sharing a beer with Ben. A birthday party for one of the Wayward Sisters, with everyone invited. Sam and Dean at Kevin’s graduation from college, shouting and applauding along with a teary-eyed, beaming Linda Tran. A disconcerted Benny being lowered into Garth’s dentist chair. Eileen crouching down, speaking softly to a cryptid, attempting to earn their trust and deescalate a situation. Crowley manipulating the screens in the control room to send resources and a respond team to a family in need. Dean, Claire, Jody and others at a hunter’s funeral, stalwart.

Dean working at the mechanic shop in Lebanon. Making friends with his coworkers, working on cars, chatting with customers. Sitting down to lunch at a park bench and eating a sandwich out of his Scooby Doo lunchbox. Donna, Charlie and Rowena having a girl’s night, drinking wine, chatting and eating deliciously decorated cupcakes.

Sam and Eileen moving into an apartment together. Dean and Claire rocking out in the Impala. Crowley and Rowena sharing a pot of tea. Meg and Sam sparring in the renovated training room in the bunker. Crowley, Benny and Dean playing pool. Sam and Eileen out for a run. Dean and Charlie playing video games, Dean shouting and waving his arms in victory as Charlie wails in defeat, throwing popcorn at him.

Sam and Eileen snuggled up together on the couch. Dean sitting out on a dock by a lake. Cas comes to join him, the two sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Dean reaches over, and takes Cas’ hand.

Sam and Dean alone together in the Fortress of Deanitude, fighting over the remote control. Dean and Cas going for a drive. The three of them – Dean and Sam and Cas – out for a night together, sitting at a bar, sharing stories, laughing.

Sam at the table in his new office. The room filled with books and artifacts, all neatly displayed. Familiar weapons and items arranged along the shelves and walls. Photos of friends and family stand in rows along the shelves, recognition awards from conferences he’s attended, souvenirs from trips with Eileen to various places around the world. A framed degree hangs on the wall. And where he can look up and see it whenever he needs to, there is a corkboard, covered in cards and letters. Handwritten, typed. Some with photos, some with smudged crayon signatures. Messages of gratitude from families. Sam smiles, adjusts the pair of wireless glasses he now wears to read. And returns to making an entry in the book open on the table - his journal. The next Winchester journal, and beside it, caught in the light from the lamps, are the initials of his brother and himself, and their mother. A family tradition, continued.

Dean and the Impala, parked outside the bunker. He is finishing giving her a rub-down, making those sleek lines gleam. Dean pats the roof of the car, lowers himself down inside. Runs his hands over the leather of her seats, the familiarity of the steering wheel. Reaches into a pocket inside his jacket and pulls out a photo. It’s the one of him and Sam, and Mary and John, taken that night they were reunited. Dean smiles, thinking of blood family and found family. And slips the photo into the visor above the driver’s seat, where it will always be with him.

As the final chords of “Suit and Jacket” reach a crescendo, Sam and Dean attach a gleaming plaque to the outside of the bunker, next to the entrance. It is inscribed with the name of this thing the Winchesters and their family have all made together. Something greater than the Men of Letters, more than a hunters’ guild, something dedicated to all of them and the future they intend to build together. It reads Mother Mary’s Home For Wayward Sons and Daughters.

As the music begins to fade, Sam and Dean kick back in the library, wondering at and admiring what they have accomplished. The “then” of their story and their lives is over. The “now” is nearly at an end. What lies before them now is the road ahead.

* * *

**_Commercial Break_ **

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

The control room and library are a busy place on this particular day. Cases are being reviewed, gear is being replenished, a new response team is being prepped for on-site operations. There is the urgency and comradery of valuable work being done, and new hands eager to help make it happen.

Dean bounces up the stairs from the corridor leading down to the garage, into the control room, and takes a look around the room. Cole is talking with a group of hunters, giving them instructions. Marie is drafting cover stories and designing fake IDs. Harry and Ed are having a minor squabble over adding Jefferson Starships to the database. Dean exchanges a few greetings here and there, and makes his way up into the library.

Sam and Kevin are reviewing something on a tablet when Dean wanders up, looking like he doesn’t want to interrupt, but also in need of a moment of his brother’s time. Sam sees him, nods, passes the tablet back to Kevin and lets Dean pull him away.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You got a second? I, ah – ” Dean looks superbly pleased with himself, like a kid eager to share in a surprise, “I got you something.”

Sam huffs lightly, smiles. “Uh, sure. What’s the occasion?”

“Well, you know, it’s been a few months now since you started this whole thing. And I figured, since there doesn’t seem to be any potentially world ending scenario – ”

“Dude!” Sam’s face clearly says ‘why would you even _say_ that?’

“ – and normally I would say this would be jinxing it,” Dean holds up his hands in defense. “But, I truly believe this is it. We _made_ it, man. And this is how I want to celebrate.” He’s got that look like he’s about to cause trouble, and is exceptionally pleased about doing so.

Sam can’t deny him. “Alright, okay.”

“Great!” Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, and bounds back out of the library, down the steps and disappears down a corridor.

Sam laughs again, shakes his head at his brother, goes back to looking at the paperwork laid out on the table. When he looks up, Dean has returned – and he’s not alone.

“Sammy, meet your new best friend.”

Padding into the library alongside Dean is a dog. Tongue-lolling, bright-eyed, as happy to see Sam as the hunter is to see him. He walks right up to him, like this was always meant to be, and the dog was just patiently waiting for the Winchester to be ready for him to come into his life.

“Hey there! Hey, boy,” Sam kneels down, gets his fingers in behind those ears, going right in for the scritches. The two of them nose to nose, in love the moment they set eyes on each other. “Look at you! Who’s a good dog? Huh, buddy? Yeah, you are, aren’t you.” The dog wuffs in agreement.

“And yes,” Dean adds, “I checked with Eileen. About your apartment and all that. Even learned how to say dog.” He makes the appropriate sign with his hand, a little clumsily, but it’s a valid attempt.

Sam is only half listening. He’s still crouched down, busy partaking in sloppy kisses, before pulling the dog up against his chest and giving him a rather emotional hug. The dog nuzzles him back.

To cover the light sheen of tears that are forming, Dean clears his throat, looks at his feet. Then wags a finger at the two of them and says in a voice that is reminiscent of all the years big brother Dean took care of little Sammy in all those motel rooms – “Now, you gotta be responsible for him, Sam. You gotta walk him, and clean up after him, and everything. Don’t come crying to me for help, either. And no dog hair in Baby!”

Sam laughs a real, hearty laugh. He’s rubbing his hands through the dog’s fur, smiling. And the two of them look up at Dean. “I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah.” The love and pride in Dean’s eyes is unmistakable. “I know you can.”

Reluctantly letting go of his new best friend and rising to his feet, Sam brushes his hands together and clears his own throat. “I’ve, ah, got something for you, too. I mean, I was saving it for your birthday. But I think now’s better.”

Dean looks surprised, in a good way. He claps his hands together, and then opens them wide, wiggles his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture.

“Well, come on then, little brother!”

Sam motions for the dog – and Dean – to stay, and backs out of the library. While he’s gone, Dean bends down, and makes his own offering of pets. “You know, you’re gonna love it here,” he promises the dog. “Plenty of car rides. Plenty of people to love on you and take you on walks. But I do gotta warn you – ” he adds, “Don’t bother trying to get any bacon outta Sam. My brother can out puppy dog eyes even something as cute as you. But don’t worry, I’ll hook you up.” The dog gives Dean a few tongue licks on the nose, which Dean does his best not to look too disgusted by. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.”

Dean rises to his full height as Sam comes bounding back into the library, with a very nice looking fishing rod in hand.

“Sorry it’s not wrapped.”

“Dude! _Awesome_!” Dean takes the rod, runs his hands down its length, admiring the craftsmanship. This isn’t just some superstore purchase. This is quality outdoorsman equipment.

“There’s a whole kit,” Sam says, “a box and tackle, flies and stuff. Would have made a better present if I’d thought to stock the cooler with beer first.”

“Nah, man. This is – this is awesome.” And then with a catch in his voice, “Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean sets the gift to the side, and pulls his brother into a hug. It is one of those long, meaningful Winchester hugs, with their arms around each other, the grip of plaid shirts between fingers. Dean can barely see over Sam’s shoulder – or he wouldn’t be able to, if both of them weren’t breathing in the moment, eyes closed. The two of them, having made it out, made it through all that hell, together.

When the moment eases, they slap each other on the back, pull apart.

“Hey, um, look,” Dean says, looking around at everything going on in the bunker, “I know you’re super busy here, getting all this up and running. But maybe you could spare a few minutes? We could go for a drive, just you and me? Like old times?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam replies, then shakes his head. “Dean, all of this? It’s important. It’s going to change things, change everything. Save lives. But you’re my brother. You _always_ come first.”

Dean looks touched, surprisingly so. Pats his brother on the shoulder, ducks his head. Laughs at himself.

As the boys head over to the stairs leading up and out of the bunker, young Elliot runs over to them, with a tablet in hand, open to an active case file. “Hey, Sam, sorry. Can you just approve this real quick?”

Sam pauses, trots back down the two steps he’s taken. Dean waits halfway up, watching his brother, obviously proud of his brother’s new role.

Sam looks over the notes on the case, nods, hands the tablet back. “Looks good to me.”

“Thanks. Oh, hey wait!” Elliot pulls the neck of his shirt to the side, revealing a fresh anti-possession tattoo, the skin around it still a little pink and healing. “I finally was able to get it!”

Sam chuckles, pats him on the shoulder. “That’s good, Elliot. Good job,” and sends him off. When he turns back to the stairs, Dean raises a brow in concerned inquiry. Sam waves it away. “No, don’t worry. He’s gonna be working on lore for quite a while. Maybe set him up with Crowley in the demonology department.” Dean nods in relief, and heads up the stairs, with Sam on his heels.

On the balcony overlooking the bunker, Sam pauses. He looks out over the control room and the library. And rather than seeing an empty bunker and slowly turning out the lights, Sam sees a community. He sees people brought together in a common cause – to help others – all of them hard at work, full of energy, and guided by good intentions. And Sam smiles.

* * *

The Impala drives on through the night, headlights beaming off the pavement.

Dean is in the driver’s seat, Sam beside him. The dog is curled in the back, dozing. It’s quiet, just the roar of the engine, the rush of the road. The boys staring ahead, out into the dark. They have gone on a drive together just like this one countless times. And there are countless more that lay ahead of them.

Dean looks over at Sam, grins to himself. Reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror. His hand lingers on the object hanging from it, the necklace Sam gave him when they were kids. Attention draw, Sam looks up, sees the amulet. He looks over at his brother, and the two share a look, a smile.

Teasingly, Sam says, “So, are we sure there isn’t some next big apocalypse just waiting around the corner?”

“So what if there is?” Dean asked after a moment. “It’s not like we couldn’t handle it. Nah, Sammy. With Chuck gone, us in control of our own story? Pretty sure that this is the end of all that.”

“It could have ended worse,” Sam admits. And then, softer. “It could have ended much worse.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs that off. “At least we didn’t go out like Game of Thrones. That was a mess.”

It gets the desired response – Sam laughs, shakes his head. They drive on for a while, enjoying the quiet, each other’s company, the soothing sounds of the Impala that they’ve known all their lives.

“You apply for that job yet?” Sam asks after a while. “Or you still just ‘volunteering’ your time there?”

Dean shrugs. “They keep asking me to. I keep putting it off. Been busy, you know? Getting everything in the bunker set up. Spending time with everyone. It’s – it’s been good. But yeah, it’s about time.”

“You’ll be great at it.” When Dean doesn’t say anything, just stares ahead, Sam insists. “Dean, you’ll be _great_ at it. You love cars. Look at the way you’ve put the Impala back together – how many times now?”

“Too many,” Dean says with a smile. “Yeah, I know this old girl inside and out.” He reaches up, brushes the top of the dash, looking fondly over his Baby. “Wherever life takes us after this, she’ll carry us the rest of the way.”

He glances over at his brother, knowingly. “You seem to have a pretty good thing going, building all of this. Running the helm.”

“Yeah, I, uh – ” Sam looks down, amused and embarrassed. “You know, when we started out, all of those years ago.” He scrunches his brow, thinking back on it. “Looking for Dad. I thought I’d put all of this behind me. But somewhere along the way, I didn’t just keep going, keep hunting, because everything kept happening to us. Or because we’re legacies, or because it was the right thing to do.” Sam thinks about it for a moment, nods, looks to his brother. “It was because I could see that there was a way to do this that was different. Better. Our way, rather than – rather than the old way. That’s worth fighting for. And, we’re not alone. We’re not _alone_ in making whatever this is. With everything saving people could be – I want to be a part of that.”

Dean glances at Sam, glances back at the road. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, low, with intent. “Me too.”

When Sam raises an eyebrow, suggesting he continue, Dean thinks it over, trying to find the right words. He keeps his eyes on the road as he says, “I’ve been thinking. About Claire. And Ben, and some of the others. They’re growing up fast, you know? Not as fast as you and I had to, but still. A whole new generation of hunters and supernatural scholars and whatever, all of them coming into their own. And even with Hell closed and how we handle monsters changing, they’re still going to have a lot to face. I figured – ” he shrugs, sounding a touch paternal, “they could use a hand. Someone who knows, who’s _been_ there. Show ‘em the ropes a little.”

Sam is quietly laughing. “You ever figure we’d live long enough for you to become the grumpy old mentor?”

“Hello, no.” Dean replies, now also smiling. “And watch you who you’re calling old,” he warns jokingly. “And along those lines, you might think about cutting your hair, if you want people to take you and what you’re building seriously.”

Sam laughs harder. “Yeah, sure, I’ll think about that.”

“I’m just saying,” Dean teases.

They let the quiet of night and the roar of the road fill the car for a moment, the atmosphere humming with their good humor and the weightlessness of their new-found freedom. In a more somber tone, Sam says, “You know, I’m _alive_ because of you, Dean.”

His brother looks over at him, both questions and understanding in his eyes.

“From the time I was little, to everything with Lucifer, and everything that came after. I’m here – I’m _me_ – because of you. I owe you everything, Dean.”

Dean looks back to the road. Tightens and releases his grip on the steering wheel. Swallows hard.

Looks back to his brother with tears in his eyes. “Nah, Sammy. It was you, keeping me alive this whole time.” A single tear slips down his cheek, and Dean doesn’t bother to brush it away. “You gave me a reason to keep fighting.”

There are tears in Sam’s eyes too. He nods, takes a deep breath. Dean’s eyes go back to the road, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Sam wipes away his own tears, clears his throat.

“So, ah – “ He sniffs, lets the emotion in the car settle. “You’re not worried about us, you know, living separate lives?”

“No,” Dean replies, confident, at peace. “No, I’m not. And you know why?” Glances over at his brother. “Because we will always be there for each other. I will always have your back. And I know you’ll have mine. We saved _the world_ , Sam. You and me. Together. Beat out all the odds.”

“Yeah,” Sam half-laughs, astounded at the thought. And relieved. Relieved that that’s all behind them. “Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

“ _Hell yeah_ , we did.” Dean declares, with a devil-may-care grin and a shake of his head.

“So, this isn’t the end of the road?”

Dean taps the steering wheel, grinning. Looks to his brother. “It’s anything but. I don’t know about you, Sammy. But I’m ready to see what’s waiting for us, down this road.”

Sam thinks about it for a moment, then nods, grinning. Dean smiles, turns his eyes back to the road. The two of them smile to themselves, feeling free, and triumphant, and ready for whatever comes next. Sam stares out the window of the passenger side of the car for a moment, watching the night roar past them. Then he reaches down for the dial on the radio.

Dean sees it. “Whoa! You know the rules,” he admonishes.

Sam huffs. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean replies, with a sly grin. Then he reaches down and turns the dial himself. “Carry On” by Kansas kicks into its first chords. Dean’s face absolutely lights up. He laughs, and drums on the steering wheel. “Hell, yeah! Love this song!”

Sam and Dean Winchester drive off together into the night, down that open road, the music swallowing the roar of the engine, until the taillights of the Impala disappear into the dark. The night becomes the final black, and Supernatural comes to an end.

* * *

_**Fade In Credits** _

* * *


	6. After the Credits: The Author’s Note

The Road Ahead was written for the SPN Coldest Hits December 2020 challenge. Originally, the theme for this challenge had been to write a fic about what you thought happened next, after the series finale. That theme had been chosen because we believed – _a lot of us_ believed, if not the entirety of the fandom – that the series finale would end…differently. If not an entirely happy ending, then at least an open road. We thought that the world of spn would be left open to us, with room to explore what happened to the characters we loved after the final credits.

Obviously, that is not what happened.

And obviously, no other theme would fit than the well-loved fandom tradition of a fix-it fic.

There are plenty of things in writing this that I could not make better. To fully write a more appropriate ending to spn, in my opinion, we would have needed to back up further in the series. This was more of an attempt to mend, to bring the character arcs to their full and due closure, to attend to the vast swath of plot holes left unfilled, to provide the sense of fulfillment and joy that the finale should have left its fandom with, and – _I’m sorry_ , but to quote Sam Winchester: _seriously?!_ – to fill the final episode with references and callbacks and remind us of all the things we fell in love with about these boys and their extended family and this show.

It took me six hours, one corkboard, a length of string for the time line, and a whole packet of index cards to map out a better ending than the series finale. This long-ass author’s note is a compilation of all of the more important things that I thought needed to happen or be included or _at least_ be addressed in the series finale to properly bring spn to a close.

As fans and as creators, we all have different perspectives, different opinions. This was just my version of the ending. And I sincerely look forward to reading other’s versions in the future.

* * *

**What Can We Fill All These Plot Holes With?**

Look, I know there are very few narratives out there – whatever medium – that manage to fill in all their plot holes before the end of the narrative. But in spn, there were some gapping ones. Not plot holes in which someone might accidently twist their ankle. Plot holes that could swallow a school bus. Plot holes into which you could shovel all the meta narratives and references and guest stars and a weird final scene of the entire cast and crew waving at the camera, and all the audience would be left with is wondering why you even bothered to attempt to shovel in anything, it didn’t do a damn bit of good.

This includes the unanswered question of what happened to Eileen, Donna, Becky, and all the other people Chuck made disappear that the Winchesters knew personally; angels and demons stewing in endless regret in the Empty for all time; Heaven and Hell being constructs born of Chuck’s family squabble with Lucifer; why Castiel never returned to the Winchesters after being released from the Empty; and, you know, that whole pesky part about everyone now having free will, and yet still living out Chuck’s ending.

The show needed to “wrap up” the world for the finale. But by that, I mean they needed to answer some of the larger questions about that world, and what was going to happen in it, and therefore to it. They needed to provide the audience with a sense of closure without an ending. That that world would go on, even after the final credits. It didn’t feel that way in the canonical series finale. I hope it does feel that way here.

* * *

**The Character Arc of Dean Winchester**

Developments that were absolutely necessary to completing Dean’s character arc include his recognition – in more than just words – that he is far more than just a killer; embracing and getting a chance to live a life that is about more than just his brother and hunting; the shouldering of responsibilities that Dean takes on entirely by his own choice; a taste of the “apple pie” ie normal life; a logical and narratively fulfilling easing of Dean’s series-long anger and grief; and of course, the establishment of complete free will from divine forces.

One thing that never changed throughout the series was the desire by both Sam and Dean to one day give up hunting and live an “apple pie” life. This takes different shapes throughout the series, from accepting that can never happen, to discussions between the two of what that might look like, to attempts by one or the other to actually escape into that life. But they both kept being dragged back into the hunting life (by Chuck’s stories or, from a broader perspective, our viewership). And yet, it was always understood that at the end of the series, in some form or another, they would be able to “lay their weary heads to rest” and live more of their lives outside of hunting. We know how that went canonically, and there’s no need to rehash it. It always felt like there would be more than to their retirement, or semi-retirement, than what they received in the canon. There was talk of beaches and going fishing, and in the series finale, an application left on Dean’s desk. I tried to incorporate into this fic as many elements of the suggestions we’ve received over the years of what Sam and Dean’s semi-retirement would look.

Dean is not the small-business-owner type, and he’s definitely not the employee type, so I can only imagine him spending a couple of hours here and there at the local mechanic’s. Though there is no doubt he would be well liked by coworkers and customers. But Dean, even as he mellows out in middle age, isn’t one for authority or being tied down. He’s had enough responsibility for multiple lifetimes. The specialized mechanics shop I imagined for him isn’t Dean caving into the American Dream of being his own boss at a small business – it’s more like a lot of the shops one finds in southern Europe and New England in America: _When is it ever open? Does it actually make any money?_ Probably not, but that’s because it’s not about “making a living” in the typical American sense. It’s about doing something he enjoys with the time he has, feeling like he’s a part of your community in some small way, and giving Dean something beyond hunting, teaching other hunters, and spending time with family. Something that is solely his. (When it is open, though, everyone in Lebanon knows it, because of the sound of Metallica blaring down the street.)

In the canon, the show includes expressions of Dean’s grief: drinking to excess, a willingness to capitulate to death, signals of denial or repression in his reluctance to talk about Castiel or Jack. But that is just another example of the termination and regression of a 15 year character arc and growth on Dean’s part.

While some fans may argue that for Dean to be whole, he needed to be reunited with Cas, I wanted to take a different approach, arguing that Cas had _already_ made Dean whole, by revealing to Dean the elder Winchester’s own truth: Dean’s choices and actions as the embodiment of love. In 15x18, Cas insists to Dean that the hunter is not, at his core, a blunt instrument of death, a bringer of destructing and suffering for those he loves and himself. Rather, he is the embodiment of all that is good, however broken, in the world. Dean himself claims this truth when he tells Chuck in 15x19 that he’s not the killer the author has always attempt to write him as.

So while Dean in my fic clearly grieves Cas’ loss, he is not lost in that grief, or lost because of it. Cas has once again saved Dean Winchester, this time from his own internalized hell. What’s more, because of this, Dean is willing to have, perhaps for the first time, faith. Faith, he tells Sam, that Cas might return, or they can find a way to save him. Faith, as Cas asserted the first time they met, that good things _do_ happen.

* * *

**The Character Arc of Sam Winchester**

For Sam’s character arc to really feel complete, the finale needed to show us that Sam could also have meaningful, lasting relationships with people other than his brother; that he was out from under the shadow of his father and his destiny as Lucifer’s vessel / moved past his feeling of victimization; that he could escape or redesign the more violent aspects of hunting, something that Sam in earlier seasons had strong feelings about; and that Sam had come into his own power as a Men of Letters, a magic user, and could employ his leadership skills to help people in whatever way he chose. Lastly, something that both Dean and Sam needed to have happen was for Sam to vocalize his willingness to let Dean lead his own life. And not mourn, but rather celebrate, how that allowed them both to grow as people and potentially grow closer as brothers.

Sam has come a long way from the kid that ran off to college to get out of the family business. He came to a place first where he accepted this was his life, and then to wanting to be there not just for his brother or destiny, but because it mattered and made a difference. And in the later seasons, Sam begins to unintentionally take on the role of a leader, first with hunters in season 12 and then with the apocalypse reality refugees in season 14. Sam had a lot of potential by the end to be a good leader – his experiences alone provided him with strength of character, bravery, understanding of the cost of his and other’s actions, a strong urge to avoid collateral damage (read: other people), knowledge, and from all of that combined, wisdom. He had been chosen as Lucifer’s vessel to help destroy the world, and he took those damaged pieces of himself and used that to make himself stronger, for the sake of others. I cannot believe he wouldn’t continue in that role as a natural leader, and as someone others respected and looked up to, in the years ahead.

* * *

**The Character Arc of Castiel**

Poor Castiel. Like all the characters – Dean, Sam, Charlie, Crowley – he deserved so much better than what he got in the series finale. For Cas to have fulfilled his character arc, he needed to be able to choose his own place in the world; to feel as though he served a purpose that was meaningful to him; and to be told that he belonged and was wanted, and not just because of his powers.

In season 11, Cas seemed rather lost, binge watching tv and just waiting for the world to happen to him. Then Jack came along, and provided Cas, who as an angel was created to serve and needs something to dedicate himself to, another grand purpose. Cas’ devotion to Jack always felt to me a little like Cas had temporarily replaced his devotion and duty to Heaven with Dean Winchester – and then, as that relationship went through rough patch after rough patch, redirected his devotion to Jack. It’s written as the devotion of a father to a son, but Cas’ belief in Jack – and ultimately, his decision to stay in Heaven in the canon – never sat right with me. His canonical ending felt, much like Dean’s, that Cas was just back to where he started at his introduction in season 4: a dutiful servant and guardian of a greater power that he blindly follows to the detriment of himself.

I’ve been reading a lot of fanfiction and seen a lot of fanart with fix-it narratives that involved Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty. And I love the symmetry of this. I love the idea of Dean saving Cas from the Empty just as Cas saved Dean from Hell all those years ago. And it fulfills one of my requirements for Cas in the finale – he is told, in no uncertain terms, that he is wanted and belongs. Even more so in the fics and fanart where Dean removes Cas’ grace, so the Emtpy cannot hold claim over him – Cas being wanted regardless of his powers. And it was incredibly strange that Dean in canon made absolutely no effort to attempt to rescue Cas.

 _But_ – I don’t regret writing this version of the culmination of Cas’ character arc. Because he essentially leads a rebellion, this time intentionally, with all the angels and demons. He’s claiming his free will, he’s embracing what is supposedly a flaw – that crack in his chassis – that makes him capable of bettering himself and the world, and he _still_ gets to help remake the afterlife alongside Jack. Do I wish I’d written Dean saving Cas himself? Yes, because I think that is exceptionally poetic. But I’m okay with this version as well.

* * *

**Destiel**

There will understandably be fans who read all the way through this because it was tagged as Destiel and come away feeling disappointed. What I imagine – and what I hope the reader imagines – down the road that lies ahead is a romantic, sexual partnership between Dean and Cas.

Destiel, in this fic, is canon. I meant to _allude_ to Destiel becoming canon, not actually _write_ Destiel canon, because what _I_ need to process the failure of the canon to account for Destiel is a continuing slowburn, with more time for the characters to work through their feelings, their fears, and find closure in their own time and at their own pace. This is, ultimately, my fic. Making that my right as the author. If you’re looking for a fic that fulfills _your_ need in regards to Destiel, I am sure there are plenty of other fics out there that will provide that closure. And I hope you find it, as I found mine.

* * *

**Wayward Sisters & the Future is Feminine**

A lot of fans were upset that Wayward Sisters did not get picked up as its own spin-off show. As much as I liked Claire, was interested in where Alex’s and Patience’s lives would take them, and adore Jody and Donna, I couldn’t see in the premier episode there being enough heart to the spin-off to carry it forward. It felt a little too CW-esque for me. That’s just my opinion.

But I do agree that Wayward Sisters felt culturally relevant, then and now. It is a part of the cultural debate over feminism and women’s rights. And it is absolutely worth asking: why is it that a show about two brothers and their father hunting monsters can take off, but a show about sisters and their pseudo-moms also hunting monsters cannot? Personally, I would argue that the future isn’t “feminine” – the phrase proudly displayed on protest signs and banners from 2016 onwards during Women’s marches around the world – but rather, non-gendered or gender neutral, and thus far more inclusive.

That being said, Wayward deserved their moment. The potential spin-off, the characters, and the young women who see themselves in Claire and Kaia and Alex and Patience, and women who see themselves in Jody and Donna, deserve to be represented, in spn and everywhere else. They deserve to hold their share of power. Is the representation of that in this fic perfect? No. But to be completely fair, this is the best I could model out of what the text had left us with.

* * *

**Redefining the Family Business**

One of the aspects it was particularly important to me to work into the boy’s final chapter is the how the Winchester’s understanding of monsters and morality changed over the series. In _Supernatural and Philosophy: Metaphysics and Monsters for Idjits_ , the philosopher Nathan Stout makes the argument that some monsters belong to what philosophers call the moral community. That is, they share the same understanding of morality as humans (including the ability to empathize with others), and therefore should only be killed when they act in a way that is collectively understood to be morally reprehensible (like killing humans). If these “monsters” aren’t killing anyone, if they’re just living out their lives, their biology shouldn’t mark them for death at the hands of a hunter. Or, as Dean puts it to Sam, “It’s not what you are that matters – it’s what you do.” A monster isn’t a monster just by virtue of the fact they’re not human.

Throughout the series, this philosophical debate ebbs and flows in favor of those we might otherwise deem “monsters”, and is often dependent on whether the Winchesters know the “monster” personally. By mid-season 12 and into 13, there was a definite return to the definition of monsters from the earliest seasons, specifically if someone wasn’t human, they deserved to be hunted and killed, regardless of their actions. Sam and Dean had so clearly grown beyond that moral narrow-mindedness, and their moral community was both more inclusive and more permeable: by the end of the series, they counted among their friends and extended family a fallen angel, a reformed witch, a cured demon, an abstaining vampire, and above all, Lucifer’s own son. There was a definite, indirectly addressed shift from monsters being things to being people, at least on an individual level.

Considering every member of the Winchester extended family – including Sam and Dean – had at one time or another themselves been a “monster” or been affected by evil or something simply supernatural (read: non-human), I cannot imagine the boys would continue to operate on the bigoted premises of the past. Or that the Winchester family business would continue to consider all monsters as “things to be hunted” rather than recognizing some non-humans as people. The Winchester’s perception of their moral community – what could be hunted and who needed to be saved, or at least given the consideration due to any member of their moral community – had grown well beyond the limits of the early seasons. And I wanted to show that in the finale “family” montage: the Winchesters and what they are building to replace the Men of Letters as something that first takes into consideration “what you do” (or what has been done to you) before passing judgement based on “what you are.”

* * *

**The Monster at the End of the Series and the End of Violence**

One day, I _am_ going to get around to writing all 40 more chapters of One of the Boys. It’s a Crowley-centric post-season 12 canon-divergent fic. And a lot of what Crowley builds in the later chapters of that series – yes, this is me giving it all away – is what is shown in the “family montage” of this fic. I’ve been hinting at the idea for years throughout other works, and it finally just felt like a good place and time to really bring the idea to its full fruition.

As the old ranger warns the boys, violence can swallow you whole and never let go. In _Supernatural and Psychology: Roads Less Traveled_ , psychologist Justine Mastin in her essay “Going through Hell: How Torture Affects the Tormentor and the Tormented”, and Doctor Stephan Schaffrath in his essay “Crossroads and a River of Crap: How Killing Affects Those Who Kill,” discuss the dehumanizing effects of violence on those both subjected to it and – like hunters – those who inflict it on others. One of the aspects of desensitizing and conditioning that occurs is the inability to conceive of alternatives to violence, better known as the phrase “when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” (And yes, there is a lot that can be said here about Dean’s death via rusty nail in the canon finale. Daddy’s blunt instrument, etc etc.) Having been conditioned to consider violence the first and foremost response to any situation, individuals exposed to long-term and intense violence as perpetrators of that violence are often incapable of conceiving of or enacting non-violent solutions to problems. (And _yes_ , my commentary here can also be read as a statement on police brutality in America.)

I chose the “Monster of the Week” for the finale to be a wendigo for this very reason. Wendigos, according to spn lore, are humans who have killed and consumed other humans out of perceived desperation. They have enacted violence, and in doing so, reduced their own humanity. They dehumanize themselves through the act of violence to such an extent that eventually they are no longer themselves physically human. And it felt right to have the supposed wendigo of this fic be a former hunter like the Winchesters not only because hunters enact violence, but also because wendigos are described as being “the perfect hunter” according to Winchester lore. And in much the same way that a hunter would see potential supernatural threats everywhere, those conditioned by violence see violent responses as the only viable option on all occasions. Hammer – nail.

Interestingly enough, wendigo lore outside of the text – in the real world – explores this in more complex ways. The wendigo syndrome or psychosis is believed to be a form of cultural-bound mental illness (cultural-bound means it only affects certain cultures or societies, and not others). And it is the fear by a person that their hunger or violence urges are transforming them into an actual monster. Desperation results in internalized dehumanization. Wendigos are often those who separate themselves from their communities (or as spn puts it, “cursed to wander the land”), and that estrangement allows them (within the psychosis they are experiencing) to dehumanize and attack others. The cure for someone who believes themselves to be a wendigo? Reintegration into the community. A strengthening of community bonds. Community and connection – not violence. Not punishment or imprisonment or death. The end of violence is a call for healing, not more destruction.

(It is absolutely worth noting here that this culturally-bound mental illness specifically effects the various cultures of the indigenous peoples of North America, in the northern United States and Canada. Beyond being a mythical creature, a wendigo is understood as a concept, of a person, society or organism (business, nation state, etc) that is infected and driven by an excessive and all-consuming greed. This need to consume, in whatever form it takes, leaves a path of destruction in its wake, and causes harm to both the one doing the consuming and those consumed. This conceptualization of wendigos has been used to understand colonialism and capitalism, and its effects on the indigenous peoples of North America, by native peoples. Hence why the “Monster of the Week” for this fic is set in British Columbia, and deals with the disappearance – and likely murder – of indigenous women by primarily white men, who are there purely to take what they can from the land. This is a serious and ongoing issue, and while spn is about escapism from the horrors of the real world, monsters are not bound by the imaginary borders of fiction.)

But _there are non-violent means_ of preempting or responding to most – if not all – of the supernatural situations that hunters encounter to in the canon. Their response requires violence only because no other measures have been put in place to respond to the situation, and things have escalated to a point where the termination of the threat – death of the monster – is the only immediate response possible to protect the lives of other innocents. In spn, this does not take into account that in some cases, the monsters are _themselves_ victims. And that lack of alternatives spawns from a general ignorance about the existence of the supernatural.

The answer to the end of violence in spn – the reduction of the need for hunters like Sam and Dean – isn’t to kill off all the monsters. (After all, how are you going to just stop ghosts from happening?) It is to put preventatives in place and offer support to those effected by the supernatural to reduce the risk of either recidivism or continuing the cycle of violence (like with Cole Trenton, or even the Winchesters themselves).

What would that look like? Well, it would mean making information about the supernatural available for anyone looking for it. Real information, reliable, credited, not the random lore the boys come across on the internet. (And yes, some gatekeeping would be necessary, with spells and such.) It means offering counseling sessions for families affected by the supernatural, either because it runs through their blood or they’ve been attacked by something. And providing those families with the means to continue to protect themselves, not just giving them “the talk” and then driving off. Here’s your salt, here’s what keeps ghosts at bay, here’s how to protect against possession. It means matching kids orphaned by the supernatural with families who know about it, and can help them process and heal from their experience. It means helping cryptids that are not predatory integrate into the society, so they do not feel isolated, like outcasts. And it means helping those that might become (rugarus) or have become (vampires, werewolves) non-humans manage their affliction, the same way we help – should help – people with mental health issues.

All of that takes a lot of something that makes for really boring television – administration. Something Crowley would be fairly good at, hence why I intended to write it into One of the Boys, but it is not something suited to the Winchesters themselves. We were never going to see this in the canon – except, potentially, in the finale. Because it wouldn’t need to be explored, or fully shown, or developed in any sort of episodic way. And grappling with the end of violence – or at least a partial end – in spn would have allowed for the thing we all ultimately really wanted: for Sam and Dean to lay their weary heads to rest, while still being able to save people from the supernatural.

Mother Mary’s Home For Wayward Sons & Daughters was the name I came up with for the organization Crowley would eventually establish in One of the Boys. I have been holding onto this for years. I am mad in love with it. And I release it now into the fandom. I sincerely hope to see it used elsewhere, because it is, to my mind, just too perfect.

* * *

**Reimagining the Afterlife**

Like many fans, I assumed from Bobby’s experience in Heaven and Ruby’s comments around The Empty that Season 15 would end with a complete overhaul of the afterlife. That this only applied to Heaven – and even then, a very suburban, hyper-individualized conception – was disappointing, partially because it kept with the modern, Western conception of a personalized paradise and thus not much of a deviation from the original concept. The suggested storylines provided by Bobby and Ruby felt misleading in comparison. As if there was more plot than available airtime. A conclusion to the series needed to include the restoration of the other realities, a redesigning of the afterlife, and a direct address to the matter of what happens to angels, demons, and non-humans when they die.

(Also, the idea that non-humans are excluded from the afterlife simply for being non-human seemed exceptionally species-ist, even by spn standards. We’re told that “the souls of Purgatory” are energy that can be just as powerful as human souls in Heaven or Hell. Thus, monsters / non-humans have souls. And yet, their biology – not the moral weight of their actions – determines their afterlife. _Really,_ spn?)

Other fans have made reference to or suggested spn might have been better off borrowing from the concept of the afterlife explored at the end of the television show The Good Place. Unfortunately, in my opinion that structure doesn’t fit the aesthetic or philosophical framework of spn. But something did need to be done about all of that – otherwise, seriously, what was Jack doing other than carrying on where Chuck had left off? (There are some really interesting fan ideas out there about Chuck actually possessing Jack at the end of 15x19, unknown to everyone else, and that’s why a lot of stuff stays the way it is in the afterlife and the boys continue on living – and dying – the way Chuck wanted. A terrifying thought.)

I chose the more “atheistic” version of the afterlife – it’s complete nonexistence – because it is more straightforward and clean, lacks an external, divine moral judge, directly confront a fear of mortality with the promise of permanent peace, and operates on a more sustainable and equitable concept of “living on after death” by reinvesting the energy of a soul into the world. (It also completely removes the specie-ism evident by Purgatory and The Empty.) And in a story about thumbing your nose at god, undermining divine plans, and abdicating for complete free will, the atheist conception of the afterlife felt pretty appropriate, even if it was established by a new divine being.

* * *

**References & Meta References**

I know I’m not supposed to point them out, that it’s the equivalent of “look how smart I am,” but as someone who is very sympathetic to Castiel when it comes to pop culture, I am very proud of the references and meta references I included in this fic.

There’s the obvious music, with Carry On by Kansas and Running Out of Gas, used in the canonical finale. The lengthy homage paid to Baby while the boys are driving to Vancouver, and its army man and lego and initials from Swan Song. And pie. So much pie. For settings, there’s the bunker, a road trip, a diner, Bobby’s old house. And of course, the Chick Flick scene.

Absolutely necessary dialogue included: “Seriously?” “So, get this.” “Oh, come on!” “Dude.” “Sonuvabitch!” “Hello, Dean.” “Hello, boys.” The boys aren’t just fine – they’re _good_.

And there’s little things that I loved working in: Dean’s photo of Mary and her little boys, Cas’ love of PB&J sandwiches, the application seen on Dean’s desk in the canonical finale. The demon blade. Gas N’ Sips, Metallica, Eye of the Tiger. Room #327 – for the final episode, and because the show often used numbers as reference. Moose and Squirrel – because how could I not? Dean’s love of porn, of horror movies, of hentai. John Winchester’s journal. Dean wanting to bring the flamethrower. Sam’s shoe. You have no idea how hard I worked to get Sam’s shoe in there. Sam freakin’ Winchester. Dean and his relationship with lamps. Pig N’ Poke. _But today is Tuesday too!_ Cheese burgers. Bobby’s hat. The crack in Cas’ chassis. Team Free Will! Crowley’s line to Sam from 8x23 about “finding a place to start looking for redemption.” Dicks with wings. Toes in the sand. Clarence. The initials carved in the library table. The mixed tape. Crowley owns – or owned – the moon. The Black Spur. Scooby Doo. Jefferson Starships. Puppy dog eyes. The demon tablet. Anti-possession tattoo. Dean’s pop culture references. Sam’s hair. The Samulet. And of course, bitch and jerk.

Middletown Street, where the mechanic shop is in Lebanon, is named after Charlie’s original last name as Celeste Middletown, meant to represent the chance at self-reinvention. Carver’s Pies is named for Jeremy Carver. Josie is a reference to Abaddon’s vessel, Josie Sands. Bucklemming got their due in the ranger station. Edlund’s Eats for Ben Edlund. Kripke and Singer got their due, as they did in the canonical finale, as the names on the FBI badges. And the Kerouac Restaurant and Lodge is named for Jack Kerouac, who’s work Kripke used as a model when constructing his original premise for spn and the Winchesters.

And as many secondary and minor character cameos and references as I could reasonably squeeze in: Eileen, Jody and Claire, Alex, Kaia, Patience, Ben Braedon, Becky, Garth, Bobby, Rufus, Karen Singer, Jo and Ellen, Gabriel, Balthazar, Anna, Chuck, Jack, Rowena, Crowley, Amara, Lucifer, Mary, John, Charlie, Kevin, Meg, the kids from 8x18 Freaks and Geeks, Benny, Linda Tran, Cole, Marie from 10x05 Fan Fiction, the Ghostfacers Harry Spangler and Ed Zeddmore (reunited), Elliot of were-pire-shifter fame.

In my defense, Lone Butte is an actual place. It’s not far from Vancouver. And when I was mapping out the area, it felt like fate.

The only thing I couldn’t squeeze in was something like in response to a pop culture reference Dean makes, Cas brandishing a commiserating smile and telling Dean “I understand that reference.” Which I deeply regret. The best I could come up with was Cas making his own casual, apt reference with that line about Obi-wan Kenobi.

What about the dog? What does it look like, what’s its name? I was very much tempted to have Dean ask Sam that, and have him suggest the name Batman. It’s a good reference to earlier in the series, and would have allowed Dean to actually enjoy being a bit of a nerd, without any rebuke for being an adult delighting in things from childhood that he so often had to set aside to care for Sammy. And I thought perhaps Sam would respond with the compromise of naming the dog Bruce, for Bruce Wayne. But that felt a bit too much like the showrunners, telling the audience exactly how they should interpret the show. So imagine the dog being any sort of dog you’d like, and naming it whatever you’d like Sam to name his dog.

Because Supernatural the tv show is over. And the text belongs to the fandom now.

* * *

**The SPN Fandom (Inside and Outside the Text)**

Ah, the Supernatural fandom. I can remember when the first episode with Becky Rosen aired, and at least half the fandom was giddy from being represented, and the other half was enraged by what that representation – well, represented.

Because Becky’s original incarnation was as the silly, overly emotion, obsessed fangirl. Not even fan – fan _girl_. Her character felt like a critique of the “typical” fan for being too emotionally involved in the show, and emotionally immature, and just generally emotional, and therefore feminine and deserving of mockery.

And yes, to some extend the representation of the fan _dom_ within the text was a mockery by the showrunners of their product – "look how lame our show is, it barely has any fans, haha." But the mockery of the fans themselves, in the character of Becky, felt targeted and cruel. That Becky then drugs, brainwashes and attempts to have Sam all to herself was one more black mark against her. Are there fans out there like Becky from earlier seasons? Absolutely. Is there anything wrong with being that sort of fan? Absolutely not. (Assuming you do not harass, harm, invade the privacy of, etc, the actors.) Becky gets something of a character arc in the later seasons in which we see her having “matured,” in that she has a house, a husband, children, and a business. (Very stereotypical of all the things modern society assures us "good girls" want and supposedly will make them whole, normal, balanced, successful and happy people.) She appears calmer, more confident in herself and, let’s not forget, less emotional.

And the canon was happy to leave it there. Becky had achieved the capitalistic, Western ideal of success, become an “emotionally mature” woman, and founds a means of profiting off her love of Supernatural.

But – that’s not the Supernatural fandom in real life. (Well, it may be for some, but my point is that this is a very narrow interpretation.) Which means Becky does not ultimately represent us. Rather, she represents how _the showrunners_ want to perceive _us_. So _what does_ the Supernatural fandom actually look like, and how could we _represent ourselves_ in the text? That’s why I felt it necessary to not only write Becky (still emotional, because that's who she is as a person, thank you), but also the Supernatural fandom into this fix-it finale.

And while we can be obsessive (this author’s note is currently 6K words long), and we can be emotional (we’re human, fuck you), and we can be immature (see the ‘fuck you’ in the proceeding parentheses) and we can even be _girls_ (or boys, or adult men and women, or non-binary, or whatever the fuck we are, because we’re – again – _human_ ), we’re also often something much more than that.

We are transformative. Just look at what the Supernatural fandom has accomplished. Not just in the weeks since the finale, with all the fundraising for mental health and lgbtq+, but well before that. We have long been a fandom known for our sense of community, our willingness to give of ourselves, to support causes, to come together. That, for many, is part of what it means to be SPNFamily.

And that deserved to be represented in the text. _That_ is the fandom we should have seen, _that_ is representation. And so Becky and all the other in-text fans did what world-saving, mighty hunters Sam and Dean Winchester could not. They started a movement. To save others, to save the boys, and above all to save themselves. Sam and Dean may have defeated Chuck. But it is the Supernatural fandom, within and outside of the text, that will ultimately change the world.

Thanks for reading.

-The Demonologist In Denim

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcome on every chapter or simply the last one, and are exceptionally appreciated!


End file.
